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The Promotion 




The Promotion 


A Story 

of the Philippine War 


By 


John Marvin Dean 

Minister of the Tabernacle Church in Seattle. Author of 
“The Cross of Christ in Bolo-Land,” etc. 




Philadelphia 

The Griffith and Rowland Press 
MCMVI 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

SEP 13 1906 

Copyright Entry 

OCotq 3 9 oo, 

CLAS^Ct XXc., No. 

/>r ^ 3 <ro 

COPY B. 


Copyright 1906 by the 
American Baptist Publication Society 

Published September, 1906 



jfrom tbe Socfets’e own iprcse 


TO 


THAT SEATTLE CHURCH 

WHICH TOOK OFFERINGS FOR 
HOME AND FOREIGN 
MISSIONS 

FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER 
ORGANIZATION 

THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 





FOREWORD 


Here is my only place to say the proper word befitting each, 
ministerial venture into the realm of fiction. I hope to obtain 
the sympathy of some of my readers by frankly admitting that, 
tired of the antagonistic treatment accorded the great enterprises 
of the kingdom of Christ in the current fiction of the day, I made 
bold to use such odds and ends of time as a busy pastorate 
afforded, to indicate to those who have more genius for such a 
task than I, the ranking importance of our greatest theme — the 
War of the Cross against the Sin of the World. May the time 
soon come when American fiction may claim as its leading light 
some writer who dares to recognize the greatness and essential 
heroism of missions. 


The Author. 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Passionate Son of Mars 3 

II. General Concepcion’s Disguise 8 

III. The Hero Crosses Swords with a Woman .... 19 

IV. A Blue Leaf of Healing 31 

V. The Little General Notes a Change 34 

VI. The Coming of the Black-bound Book 44 

VII. A Transformed Member of Montor’s Band .... 50 

VIII. An Insurgent Torch for Calvary 64 

IX. The Water-cure at Ignotan 71 

X. A Red Ticket to Iloilo 80 

XI. The Hero Finds a Fair Confessor 90 

XII. The Hero Becomes a “Gospel Sharp” 100 

1 


2 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIII. Salak-da-ko and the Jolo Sea hi 

XIV. A Garrison of Two 118 

XV. In the Lair of the Ladrones 127 

XVI. The General Turns Czar for the Sake of the 

Service 135 

XVII. Hard Thinking in Abra Canyon 143 

XVIII. A Resignation from the Staff 155 

XIX. On the Carlist Path 162 

XX. The New Brother at the Baptist Mission . . . 169 

XXI. The Prophet of Pan ay 178 

XXII. The Tent Among the Palms 190 


XXIII. Songs From the Picket Line 


200 


I 


A PASSIONATE SON OF MARS 



•HE young commander dismounted from his sweat- 
ing Cagayan pony and stood somberly over the 
L awful evidexice stretched out on the plaza be- 
fore him. The command halted irregularly 
around him and silently waited, the deep breathing of the 
exhausted men alone breaking the dead stillness which 
brooded over the oven-hot Filipino town. 

It is not good for a man to gaze too long upon such a 
sight as the dark eyes of the Senior Lieutenant fed upon — 
seventeen erstwhile comrades now dead, carved, slit and 
twisted into all imaginable positions impossible to living 
men, sprawled out over the brown, parched, alien sod. Yet 
for a full minute the officer kept his attitude, his eyes 
hardly noting more than the body nearest his feet, and 
when he spoke it was not as the men had anticipated. His 
voice was calm and even. 

“This completes my education, Smith.” 

He had addressed the junior lieutenant at his elbow, but 
his eyes did not lift from the hideous, distorted face of 
the slaughtered man at his feet. 

“You hear me, Monty? The old ideals have held and 
hampered me long enough. For three years I have been 
a sentimentalist, but this is my graduation day. Turenne’s 
methods are mine from now on. Collins courted these 
vile Visayans with kindness, danced at their ‘bayles/ played 

3 


4 


THE PROMOTION 


with their brats, settled their quarrels, and tried ‘benevo- 
lent assimilation’ generally. And this is what he and his 
command got for it all. We’ll begin the new course of 
treatment at once. Lieutenant, take a squad and round 
up every living Filipino in the place. Break ranks, the 
rest of you, and bury the dead. No, not here. Bury them 
under the mango trees yonder.” 

As the soldiers scattered in obedience, the commander, 
leaving his pony to the care of an orderly, passed across 
the plaza and into one after another of the buildings lin- 
ing it. 

Nerve-shaking as the gruesome plaza had been to the 
commander, he made discoveries in the “convento” which 
were even more appalling. Apparently the bolo-men had 
rushed the little garrison at the dinner hour, when only a 
fraction of the fated company was under arms, and when 
the first instinct of each soldier had been to rush up from 
the mess kitchen below into the sleeping quarters above 
and grasp his rifle. It was over these rifles that a terrible 
struggle had taken place, naked-handed Americans against 
the long knives of the Malays, for over and among the 
blood-splashed cots and lockers were the bodies of some 
twenty-two other victims, almost all maliciously slashed 
after death into an unidentifiable mass of blood, bones and 
cloth. The body of their commander, Collins, was only 
recognized by his silver bars pinned to the collar of his 
blouse. He had fallen beside the entrance to the guard- 
house, and his revolver hand had been ruthlessly hacked 
off, no doubt to secure a weapon which had stiffened in 
the dead man’s grasp. 

If the Visayans had suffered any in the attack, no brown 
bodies remained to give satisfaction to the raging hearts 
of the discoverers of the tragedy. 

In prompt obedience to his orders, Second-Lieutenant 
Montaigne Smith had scoured through the radiating cross 


THE PROMOTION 5 

streets and trails of the place, but all to no avail. The 
place was deserted of all but the American dead. 

“Burn the town, then,” said the commander upon hear- 
ing Smith’s report. “Spare the ring of buildings around 
the plaza, but wipe the rest of Alcala off the map. The 
whole accursed place should go up in smoke; but we may 
have to use these inner buildings for quarters if we are 
ordered to remain in the puebla.” 

Bamboo can hardly be said to burn, for the word “burn” 
suggests more or less of deliberation. 

It was with almost the quickness of 
an explosion that the tinder-like struc- 
tures were destroyed, the air in the 
joints of the wood expanding and 
bursting in the heat of the red flames 
with a sound like that of a quick-fir- 
ing machine gun. Thus accompanied, 
the burial party went on with its 
work on the stifling plaza, overhung lieutenant heart. 
with inky clouds of smoke, while the Senior Lieutenant, 
with his orderly, rode out between blistering masses of 
glowing embers to the edge of the town to pick up the sev- 
ered Signal Corps wire, mend the break, attach a pocket in- 
strument, and tick a brief report of the massacre to the 
Brigade Headquarters at Iloilo. 

“I have burned all but the inner ring of buildings about 
the plaza, reserving these for the use of my command. 
The dead are being buried. Captain Collins’s body will 
be sent to Iloilo on a litter to-morrow. The entire region 
is apparently deserted. I ask permission to remain at 
Alcala with my detachment and endeavor to secure the 
punishment of the murderers.” 

So ended the hasty report, and the officer went back with 
grim face to the blackened desolation of the puebla, con- 
tinuing his oversight of the burial of the bodies until the 



6 


THE PROMOTION 


coming of the merciful shadows of night, which, cluster- 
ing under the mango trees, hid even from the light of the 
moon the thirty-nine hasty graves on the plaza. Then, 
while the new garrison, refusing the gruesome quarters 
of the blood-stained “convento” slept fitfully, moodily, 
along the transept of the smoke-blackened church, the new 
commandante, seated at the open window of the most 
pretentious of the circle of unburned houses, gazed gloomily 
down at the black environs of his post, dully watching the 
still gleaming embers showing here and there, and, im- 
patient of the slow-moving night hours, longed for the 
new day, that vengeance might be visited upon the enemy. 

• 

A week after the massacre at Alcala the Adjutant-Gen- 
eral at Iloilo was conversing with his superior, the Com- 
mander of the Department of the Visayas. 

“Heart,” he remarked between puffs of an Isabella cigar, 
“is a changed man. You’ve doubtless noticed that, General, 
by his reports this week. Why, you remember, sir ! that 
man used to be one of the finest specimens of an ultra- 
idealist in the Army; a great theorist, you know, about 
humanity in modern warfare, and looked upon the Army 
as a sort of Central Park police force. He was always 
worrying about the excesses of his men, taking the side 
of the poor, abused Filipino, etc. But I reckon that affair 
at Alcala must have knocked the foolishness out of him. 
The way that fellow has been ‘pacifying’ things reminds 
me more of Jack Turenne than any other of our men. He’s 
burned three ‘barrios,’ wiped out two bands of insurgents 
connected with Collins’s murder, filled the old prison here 
with suspects, and” — the Adjutant lowered his voice and 
winked through the pleasant haze of tobacco smoke — “he’s 
the hottest disciple of surreptitious water-cures that I have 
in my territory. We’ll make a man of him yet !” 

“If my memory serves me correctly, the young fellow 


THE PROMOTION 


7 

always has had a pretty good record. Wasn’t there some- 
thing said of him in the Santiago campaign?” the little 
General queried. 

“Yes, he’s the one, Herbert Heart, ‘second man in the 
San Juan block-house,’ and all that. Contributes accep- 
tably to the Army and Navy Journal, too. But, General, 
you know as well as I do that bravery and brains alone 
don’t make a good soldier for this kind of a proposition. 
If Panay is ever to be pacified, we’ve got to have officers 
who can put the screws on, and not blush when they do it, 
either. That look at poor Collins’s men dead on the plaza 
taught young Heart a mighty necessary lesson. We’re not 
fightiig men here, General. We’re fighting a slimy lot of 
two-faced pagans, who can’t stand kindness any more than 
a Cuban can stand freedom.” 


II 




agent 


GENERAL CONCEPCION’S DISGUISE 

ELL, Povey, how does the town strike you?” 
Heart asked the question, comfortably laid 
out in what had once been the most luxurious 
ebony' chair of the village priest, his feet cocked 
up on the balcony rail before him. Povey, the 
for Rainier Beer, a shapeless, conscienceless, self- 
complacent man, as comfortable in a somewhat less preten- 
tious chair, laughed a low and expressive commendation, 
while his slit-like eyes wandered over the scene before him, 
and recapitulated it to his shrewd mind. 

Bearing in mind that the living quarters of the old Tri- 
bunal in which they were seated stood high above the 
plaza, and that the morning sun, a third up the sky, still 
left them pleasantly shaded, while the buildings opposite 
were flooded with its light, one can understand how com- 
prehensive was Povey’s survey. Only the houses flanking 
the Tribunal on either side and forming the east side of 
the plaza were denied him. His indolent eye raked along 
the northern line of buildings — the old “convento,” once 
the home of the lordly village “padre,” now a barracks for 
Company I ; the double towers of the pueblo church, rudely 
carved and piously decorated with weather-beaten images. 
Both barracks and church were built of whitened stone, 
and were roofed with dilapidated red tiling. With more 
satisfaction he gazed across at the western front. The 

8 


THE PROMOTION 


9 

mango trees interfered somewhat with the view, and the 
now green mounds beneath them might have troubled a 
more sensitive man. He hardly noted trees or graves, but 
allowed his eye to fall cheerfully upon the central building 
of the row beyond them. On its front it bore an ultra- 
American legend, staring enough to be easily readable 
where he sat — “Drink Rainier Beer While Chasing 
Aguinaldo.” It was evidently the Post Exchange, as a 
group of soldiers were clustered under the rude, corru- ;• 
gated-iron awning in front of it. He noted with less in- 
terest- its neighbors, one a Chinese restaurant, where deli- 
cacies not on the regular bill of fare at the mess could be 
obtained whenever the liberal prices demanded were forth- 
coming. The remaining structures were plainly dwelling 
houses of the more elaborate Visayan style, stone below, 
projecting stories of wooden and lattice construction above, 
fitted with sliding windows, and roofed with either tiling 
or “nipa” leaves. Completing the square, and forming its 
southern side, came a similar row of buildings, ragged but 
interesting to a novice eye, deadly monotonous to the 
tropic-weary garrison. Of these, two alone seemed worthy 
of particular attention — one because it appeared somewhat 
better kept than its fellows, being framed in banana and 
other palms, and giving evidence by the arrangement of 
its windows of being occupied, a sign utterly lacking else- 
where in the row, with the exception of the building im- 
mediately to its right and nearer the Tribunal, which 
boasted a red-cross ensign, a sentry and a corrugated-iron 
roof, and was evidently serving as a Post Hospital. As 
to the plaza itself, with the exception of the sentries at $ 
barracks and hospital, and the men lounging on its edge 
about the newly opened canteen and restaurant, it was 
utterly devoid of life. At its corners straggling trails came 
in from the outside, affording, by the intervals they caused 
B 


10 


THE PROMOTION 


in the framing buildings, glimpses of a hideous black waste 
of burned bamboo beyond. 

It took but an instant to review all this, and the reply of 
the agent to the Commandant’s question came without 
perceptible delay. 

“Why, you’re picking up nicely, Lieutenant,” he re- 
sponded, wiping the foam of his own brand from his lips 
and turning his attention to an industrious line of ants 
which were forming an endless chain of activity from a 
distant corner to a puddle of beer upon the table-top at his 
elbow. 

“What do you miss in the landscape, Povey?” inquired 
his host. 

The agent grinned. 

“Why, you’re all here,” he said, “Hospital, Post Ex- 
change, Chink restaurant, comfortable quarters. The only 
thing I miss is the regular little brown inhabitants.” 

The handsome face of the officer became grim. 

“They will be missing some days yet from Alcala. Drop 
in on your next trip and look for them again. It took me 
about ten days after Collins and Company M were butch- 
ered before I taught my little lesson thoroughly. We 
burnt the whole district up three miles each way, and I 
had a big string of them here — priests, presidentes, tenientes, 
picaninnies and Margaritas, every one of them a howling, 
enthusiastic ‘amigo,’ all only asking that they might stay 
in the district and be good. Why, some of them even 
waved little American flags down there in the plaza — 
little three-stripe-six-star affairs like that one over the 
Chink cock-pit at Iloilo. Oh, they were great pro-Ameri- 
cans after I ‘pacified’ the district.” 

“And you turned ’em down cold?” Povey queried. 

“Did I?” The face of the Lieutenant grew unpleasantly 
tense. “I passed them in review by the graves over yonder, 
picked out the husky ones for the Iloilo stone-gang, gave 


THE PROMOTION 


II 


the spokesman the ‘water-cure/ and warned the rest of them 
out of the district. Turenne is to the north of me with 
that holy terror of a detachment of his. I reckon that be- 
tween us we are filling up the tall timber.” 

“Well, it sure looks queer to see a Filipino town without 
any Filipinos in it,” said Povey judicially. “I should think- 
you’d need a few to do the rough work.” 

“Chinamen do it better. In the two months I’ve been here 
we’ve imported a dozen or more from Iloilo, besides ‘Hong 
Kong/ my boy. And I’ve acquired a Spanish outfit over 
there next to the hospital. The man of the outfit is quite 
an interesting old copy of Don Quixote, and was, I under- 
stand, the Governor of Iloilo Province in Spanish days. 
He lived here up to the evacuation of the island by their 
forces, then went with them to Jolo, but after our occupa- 
tion came back to Iloilo, and now is up here again to use 
that old piece of property of his, the only thing he has 
left. I’m glad we happened to spare that row when we 
burned the town, for the Don is good company. There’s 
the usual Senora, too, fat and ‘garlicky/ and a Mercedes 
who made quite a stir, I hear, at the ‘bayles’ at Jaro.” 

At this juncture Povey was tempted to open up some 
typical army stories of sex, but knew his man too well to 
risk a chill. Turenne made a good partner at pruriency, 
but Heart had a different look and a different reputation, 
and the agent stuck to the beaten path. 

“But I’ll swear I saw a young ‘Khakiak’ around here 
this morning.” The Lieutenant conceded the truth of the 
observation. 

“You’re right. There is just one Filipino in Alcala. 
When you’ve seen him you’ve seen all. Had to have him. 
Smith and I are good enough at the Spanish, but when it 
comes to Visayan, all we can muster is tubig and palay. 
Our one lone Filipino is an interpreter, a mighty bright man, 
and manages Spanish, patched English, French, Visayan, 


12 


THE PROMOTION 


and Tagalog. He’s a surly fellow. That’s why we like 
him. No more ‘amigo’ business for us. Smith picked him 
up somewhere. Patricio!” 

The Lieutenant had raised his voice and thrown it back 
into the recesses of the Tribunal. Almost instantly a step 
was heard, and there appeared at their backs a Visayan, 
rather tall for his race, and with unusual strength in his 
features, which were regular and firm, and crowned by a 
stiff pompadour of glossy black hair, “a la Aguinaldo.” He 
was dressed in a neat suit of white, and stood attentively 
listening while his chief gave some routine instructions 
concerning the translation of a proclamation to be issued 
in the district. Once or twice, as the Lieutenant proceeded, 
his black eyes flashed in quick apprehension, but for the 
most part his face was unreadable. 

The Lieutenant soon finished. 

“And make it plain, Patricio, for your people’s sake. Don’t 
soften it, or you will make trouble for them. Every time 
that wire is cut, tell them that another ‘barrio’ will be 
burned.” 

A “Si, Senor,” from Patricio ended the interview, and 
the interpreter withdrew noiselessly. 

“He’s a pretty sturdy specimen, Lieutenant,” commented 
Povey, as they resumed their positions. “Does he sleep 
in the quarters here? I suppose you know how some of 
those people feel about the hope of sticking a knife into 
you?” 

The officer smiled scornfully. 

“Yes, we keep him at the back, but the risks are too great 
for him — Smith and I both in the front here, the Doctor on 
the side, Hong Kong in a rear room, right opposite him, 
and the sentry down stairs, to say nothing of running the 
outposts afterward. No, he’ll be good. Hong Kong! clear 
this stuff away.” 

Heart’s servant, a worldly-wise China boy, who had been 


THE PROMOTION 


13 

with him in several campaigns, came slapping across the 
floor in his sandals, and removed the tray with its bottles 
and glasses. 

Conversation languished, and the two men had fallen into 
a silent contemplation of the plaza, when a sharp ring 
of the telephone brought the commander quickly to the re- 
ceiver. 

‘‘Our outposts are connected by telephone,” he explained 
briefly to his guest, and then, decisively, into the mouth- 
piece, “All right. Join you inside of fifteen minutes/’ 

Hanging the receiver with a snap, he disappeared into a 
side door, emerging an instant later with hat and revolver 
belt. 

“Monty has picked up a Filipino outfit with his field 
glass. He says they are approaching on the San Bias 
road. Make yourself at home, Povey, and I’ll go out and 
help him play ‘Robin Hood and the High Sheriff of Not- 
tingham.’ Farewell.” 

The young officer disappeared downstairs and soon reap- 
peared, crossing the dusty plaza. He again disappeared into 
the cool shade of the arched entrance to the barracks, and, 
not more than a full minute afterward, rode out with a 
single orderly, both mounted upon ponies and trotting 
sharply. 

Turning his face toward the hills to the north, Heart 
quickly left behind him the melancholy outskirts of Alcala, 
nnd found himself with relief winding through the unscarred 
hills toward the Rio Verde. Closely within the promised 
fifteen minutes, he splashed across its shallow ford, and rode 
up into a grove of bamboos on its northern bank, checking 
his eager little mount with his left hand, and with his right 
carelessly returning the salute of a half-dozen soldiers who 
sprang up around him — Lieutenant Montaigne Smith’s 
patrol, who, with their ponies back in the heavy growth, 
had been lying expectantly facing a clearing beyond the 


THE PROMOTION 


14 

grove over which the trail from San Bias came straight 
and unobstructed toward them. 

While his orderly led his own and his commander’s pony 
away into the brush, Heart dropped in the grass at the side 
of his sub-lieutenant. 

‘‘Pretty soon, now?” he asked, loosening his revolver 
and revolving its cylinder to assure himself that it was prop- 
erly loaded. 

“Any moment, Lieutenant,” answered Monty, always 
eager and now plainly excited. “But I don’t think there 
is a chance of a shot.” 

“Where’s the exhibit?” 

“Here it is, sir. Macklin took it off a Filipino crossing 
the ford here an hour after sunset last night, as I reported 
to you. The man tried to escape, but Macklin potted him 
against the sky-line with a shot in the heart.” 

Heart took from his brother officer a crumpled piece of 
paper, which, stretched out, revealed a few Spanish sen- 
tences : 

“Comrades of the Republica Filipina ! Our most illustrious 
and courageous General, Jose Concepcion — ” 

“Old Concepcion, eh !” ejaculated the reader delightedly. 

“Jose Concepcion will pass through your districts on his way 
to arouse and inspire our troops in the Province of Antigue. 
Owing to the dangers to which he is subjected, he will assume 
a disguise of which the bearer will tell you. Let all loyal Fili- 
pinos prepare him such hospitality and assistance as he may 
require, thus continuing him in his labors in behalf ©f our ever- 
victorious cause. 

“(Signed) monasterio. Adjutant,” 

“May the stars of fortune smile on us this once,” laughed 
the commander of Alcala, wiping the perspiration from his 
face. 

“You think Pm right, then, in my surmise that the dis- 


THE PROMOTION 


15 

guise will be that of a woman?” queried Monty, anxiously 
leveling his field glass at a patch of white now showing up 
the San Bias trail. 

“Hardly a doubt of it,” said Heart slowly. “He knows 
we don’t war much against women in this district. I wish, 
however, that Macklin’s aim had been poorer. If he had 
only winged that insurgent despatch-bearer we might have 
gotten the matter of the disguise out of him. But my 
faith in your theory is strong, Monty. Old Concepcion 
is probably hard pressed around Dumangas, and is cutting 
across to the mountains. Have you patrols on the other 
roads ?” 

“Dulaney is to the westward with a squad, and Castells 
at the east ford, but I’m convinced, sir, that the General in- 
tends to trust to his disguise and travel through Alcala. 
Gives him a chance to brag afterward about bearding ‘the 
lion in his den,’ etc., you know.” Smith smiled excitedly, 
never lifting his glass from the trail. “Here, sir, you can 
make it out clearly now.” 

Heart took the instrument and swept the country to the 
north. At last he located the nick in the green hill a mile 
in advance against the sky, through which the trail wound 
toward him. 

Perhaps a third of the distance from the cut to his own 
position, he made out the approaching outfit, a single native 
“kilos,” with a white-clad driver and a suggestion of color 
in the windows of its cab. It was coming quite slowly, but 
nevertheless, whirled a heavy cloud of dust from its 
wheels. 

Heart searched it keenly. Then he smiled cheerfully. 

“My faith increases,” he said softly. “Pass the word 
not to fire under any circumstances. If I remember aright, 
Jeff Davis was captured in a woman’s togs : why not Gen- 
eral Jose Concepcion, the noted insurgent cutthroat, etc., 
Monty ?” 


i6 


THE PROMOTION 


Eight more eager minutes, and the unsuspecting driver 
urged his ragged pony into the grateful shelter of the 
bamboos on the Rio Verde, the wheels of the “kilos” creak- 
ing dismally in the sand. 

“Now, men !” shouted Monty, and the game was bagged. 

Even stolid Filipino blood is stirred by the apparition of 
a half-dozen grim men suddenly rising out of the earth, 
and the “cochero” shrank in terror as Corporal Kleinstuk 
jerked him from his box, and, with a half-automatic motion, 
born of long experience, ran his hand up and down the 
Visayan’s back to discover the presence of a hidden bolo 
beneath the “pina” shirt. 

A cry of terror had come from one of the figures in the 
‘Ittlos,” a cry so truly feminine that Heart, as he stepped 
forward to inspect the occupants, knew there was no pos- 
sible sex disguise in her case, and looked up expectantly to 
the second figure, seated opposite her, receiving thereby the 
greatest surprise of his life. He found himself gazing 
into the smiling face of an American woman, a face, too, 
of undoubted youth and modest beauty. 

Having prepared himself to find a cunningly disguised but 
recognizable likeness of slippery old Concepcion, we cannot 
blame him for the comical look of amazement with which 
he saw, not a pair of evasive black eyes, but a pair of steady 
gray ones; not a wrinkled mahogany skin, but one clear al- 
most to the verge of pallor, and holding a tinge of excited 
red in the cheeks; not a twisted wig of black, pompadoured 
hair, but a most wonderfully genuine crown of almost golden 
brown. 

She was smiling as he began his scrutiny, but he awoke to 
conventionalities with a start when her smile gave place 
to a decidedly indignant expression, and her voice broke into 
the awkwardness in a cold, “I beg your pardon, sir,” which 
had a most proper effect upon him. The amazement left 


THE PROMOTION 17 

his countenance, and his corded hat swept from his head in 
an instant. 

“I most earnestly crave yours, madam,” he said, smiling- 
ly. “My surprise is my only excuse for the stare. I was 
anticipating a meeting with my old enemy, General Con- 
cepcion.” 

He did not say that he had not seen the face of an Ameri- 
can woman for six long months, and thus might be entitled 
to lenity. 

“But surely not in a woman’s dress, sir,” her voice still 
retaining its chill. 

The men gathered respectfully about the “kilos” as the 
officer explained the situation, their battered hats clutched 
in their hands, and their heads bared in reverence at the 
overwhelming picture of a charming white-clad American 
woman on the dangerous trail of Alcala. Even Kleinstuk’s 
hold on the “cochero” relaxed, and that individual squatted 
sullenly in the edge of the bamboos, chewing betel-nut. 

A peal of fearless laughter marked the end of the humble 
hero’s explanation, a signal for a general round of grins on 
the part of the discomfited patrol. 

“Concepcion must have taken the western trail or deferred 
his visit,” ended up the commander of Alcala. “And now, 
if you will allow us the convenience of your name, Miss 
?” 

“Duval,” she supplied. 

“Thank you. And now, Miss Duval, we will escort you 
to such poor quarters as we possess at Alcala, and after 
you have refreshed yourself and your companion from the 
heat of your journey, you must permit us to catechize you 
concerning the risks you are running by traveling on these 
dangerous trails without escort.” 

His last words contained a suggestion of reproof, and she 
endeavored to bow gravely in assent, but succeeded poorly, 
a smile struggling through as she thought again of his 


i8 


THE PROMOTION 


discomfiture. As the “cochero” scrambled up again to his 
place and the “kilos” started splashing across the stream, 
she leaned across to her still puzzled Visayan companion, 
and explained the situation to her in Spanish. Heart and 
Smith, riding ahead of their precious convoy, and the patrol 
coming after, sheepishly heard both women laugh musically 
but unrestrained, as the lumbering vehicle clambered up 
over the bank and fairly took the trail to Alcala. 

Corporal Kleinstuk and Private Macklin, detailed to re- 
main behind until relieved, stood in the bamboos and fol- 
lowed their luckier comrades and the dainty figure in white 
with wistful eyes. 

“Wan of thim new women nurses up from Iloilo?” sug- 
gested the latter softly, as though under the spell of pleasant 
thoughts. 

“Like enough, bunky.” Kleinstuk also spoke as with an 
effort. “Though what she’s doin’ out here travelin’ these 
trails without any escort excepting that Filipino woman is 
more than I sabe. Wisht I was a ‘shave-tail’ myself, Mack. 
Think of us havin’ to dessicate in ninety degrees here, while 
the Lieutenant sits in the shade with her this afternoon 
and passes her a fancy brand of vino !” 

“Envy him not, ye Dootchmon,” responded his partner, 
still watching the last point on the opposite bank of the 
Verde, where the “kilos” had been visible. “If I know 
anything about the faces of me fellow mortals, and I’ve been 
stoodying thim for mony’s the year, oor dashin’ C.O., Lef- 
tinent Herbert Heart, is soon to be an object of great coom- 
passion to the hull of us.” 


Ill 


THE HERO CROSSES SWORDS WITH A WOMAN 

^ OMPANY I, awe-struck and curious as a 
girls’ boarding-school, had seen with satis- 
faction the final disposition of the unex- 
pected guest. The “kilos” had been driven 
directly to the home of the afore-mentioned 
Spanish family, and Miss Duval and her 
companion were made welcome in the hos- 
pitable fashion characteristic of the true 
Castilian. Don Rodrigo, ex-Governor of 
Iloilo Province, a man both modest and able, whose only 
dissipation was chess, and whose only weakness an at- 
tempt to link a really ancient ancestry with the glory of 
the famous Pelayo of the Eighth Century Asturian King- 
dom, received with a genuine demonstration of pleasure the 
fair “Americana,” and even assigned her companion, a 
bright Visayan woman, to an apartment with all his gra- 
ciousness of manner. In this he was fairly equalled by his 
wife, who, true to the Commander’s description, was typ- 
ically fat and “garlicky.” Her good-natured and motherly 
reception of her guest was the warmer when she found her- 
self able to use her own beautiful language in talking with 
her. Mercedes, the slender antipode of her mother’s figure, 
shvly joined in the greeting as the officers, bowing their 
adieux at the gate, rode over to the Tribunal. 

Here word awaited them that General Concepcion had 
19 



20 


THE PROMOTION 


been reported as back in the hills north of Dumangas, where 
he was being hard-pressed by a detachment of scouts from 
Turenne’s command. 

“All our trouble for nothing,” commented Monty. 

“Hardly as bad as that, old fellow,” laughed his senior, 
looking steadily at his friend. “It looks to me as though we 
had made the capture of our careers.” 

“Who do you think she is, anyway?” asked the junior 
officer, blunt eagerness in his voice. “Povey gave me the 
names of that new detachment of nurses who have just 
come down on the Warren , assigned to the Brigade Hos- 
pital. I’m sure ‘Duval’ wasn’t one of them. Anyhow, they'd 
never let them wander around the country without escort. 
She must belong to the civilian outfit, but she certainly had 
the poise of a general’s daughter. If Povey hadn’t lit out 
for Jaro we might have pumped him.” 

“Poise is a good word, Monty. She had so much of it 
that I deferred the satisfying of my curiosity and the ex- 
pression of my indignation at her foolhardiness until after 
‘siesta’ hour. Is Doc here yet?” 

“Washing up at the back. Since he heard the news of 
our capture he has been skulking around for clean clothes 
and a razor.” 

“Wise man,” laughed Heart. “I follow suit after lunch. 
Let’s see what Hong Kong has for us.” 

As the China-boy brought in the light noon-lunch the 
two officers prepared themselves by stripping off their close 
khaki jackets, throwing their leggings into a corner and 
loosening the kerchiefs about their necks, for it was a sti- 
fling day. While thus engaged the post doctor came in from 
the wash-platform in the rear. 

When Heart had secured the assignment of his old 
friend, Jim Hilton, as acting assistant surgeon at Alcala, 
he had had in mind not merely the medical needs of Com- 
pany I, but his own need of congenial companionship as 


THE PROMOTION 


21 


well. Back in the old college days, when they were both 
working their way through the expense 
of the curriculum by a hundred desper- 
ate expedients, they had shared a room 
in the weather-beaten old dormitory, and 
had been inseparable until the parting of 
the ways had led Heart to an art institute 
in Pittsburgh, and Hilton into Ann Ar- 
bor’s medical department. The strong 
tides of the Spanish-American War had 
brought them into the common service, and the steady, 
cheerful, studious little doctor, near-sighted, firm-mouthed, 
open-hearted, was now furnishing Heart almost the only al- 
leviation of a life which, with all the glamor of its military 
trappings, he felt and knew to be both narrow and hard- 
ening. 

Hilton had obtained but a glimpse of the garrison’s guest, 
but it had driven him to the lather cup and a clean out- 
fit, and he formed a decided contrast to his unkempt breth- 
ren. 

“The Post Hospital at Alcala needs the inspecting eye of 
a woman,” he murmured cheerfully, between his beans and 
his coffee. 

“I shall be glad to have visitors on the plaza at ‘retreat,’ ” 
supplemented Smith. 

“All this will be kept in mind by a benevolent superior 
officer,” said Heart. 

A few minutes finished the meal, and the three men went 
in as many directions, the doctor to his little dispensary, 
Smith to his cot to make up for the sleep lost through 
his night’s scouting, and Heart likewise to a cot, not to take 
the usual “siesta,” but to lie out-stretched upon the cane- 
weave of the Filipino bed and stare ruminatingly up into 
the thatched “nipa” of the roofing. The deadness of the 
withering noon hours had fallen upon the entire garrison, 



22 


THE PROMOTION 


and thus, with hardly a sound to disturb his mental pro- 
cesses, he gave himself willingly over to a rapid review of 
his feminine ideals. 

The commander of Alcala was one of those men whose 
outward manner might at times verge on the careless, or 
even frivolous, but the current of whose inner life runs 
deep and grave. Only those admitted into his inner life 
(and they were few, indeed, in number), even approximate- 
ly understood him, and realized even in part the essential 
earnestness of the man. A “sinner,” in the conventional 
sense, Heart had found himself rapidly becoming as he fol- 
lowed the almost irresistible tendencies of garrison life, 
and even a sinner above his fellows. From the memorable 
moment in his career when he had gazed at the butchered, 
tortured bodies of Collins’s command, and had left behind 
him forever, as he believed, the more boyish ideals of 
his military life, he had drifted into a mental attitude 
which soon affected his moral judgment, and such acts as 
the indiscriminate destruction of native houses, the harry- 
ing even of women and children from his district, and the 
use of torture to extract information from prisoners no 
longer troubled his conscience. Whereas a few months 
before he had gravely contributed an article to the Army 
and Navy Journal on “The Spirit of Chivalry in Modern 
Warfare,” he now felt a grim satisfaction in subjecting cap- 
tured insurgents to the “thumb-test,” the “sweat-box,” and 
the “water-cure.” Although entering the Army from 
civilian life, he had brought with him the military ardor 
and honor of an ancestry of volunteer soldiers. But his con- 
ception of the ideal soldier as a man of high, almost Quix- 
otic moral life, was rapidly disintegrating, and the lower 
and more dangerous conception of a hard-swearing, un- 
pretending, blunt, masterful, hard-fighting commander had 
vaguely erected itself and claimed his gradual allegiance. 
But to one element of this old army ideal he had not yet 


THE PROMOTION 


23 

brought himself to assent. Always an idealist concerning 
women, and having constantly fed the fire upon the altar 
of his ideal love by a devotion to such poetry as Goethe’s 
love lyrics, Keats’s throbbing verse-confessions, and Car- 
tier’s “Lines to a Maiden,” he was utterly unable to follow 
in the footsteps of many a dashing junior and grizzled, 
knowing senior, and utilize a woman as a tool of cheap pas- 
sion. No, not even though the woman might be of an alien 
race or a depraved life. 

The usual religious sensitiveness of the adolescent age 
had left no convictions of duty Godward strong enough 
to resist a general deterioration of the high moral concepts 
of his college and art life, but the very instinct of self- 
preservation seemed to save for him the pure fancies and 
untarnished hopes of a radiant love to come. Unable, 
being of finite mind, to avoid incarnating his fancies in vis- 
ible form, he had at first gradually, and then automatically, 
drawn the coming queen of his life in the dark lines of 
a tropical fancy — a half-French, half-Italian ideal. More 
than once he had tried to project her upon canvas, and 
it was always the darker hues from which he borrowed her 
hair and eyes. He had caught a hint of her now and then, 
he felt, in some face upon a busy street, or some figure in 
a passing carriage, and he had often followed for blocks a 
woman utterly strange to him whose form seemed to prom- 
ise the fair one of his solitary musings. But always these 
hints were thrown from some “slight and slender” brunette, 
hair black or blue-black, brows well lined, and eyes intense. 
His experience with his dreams has had its partial parallel 
in many a clean man’s thinking, and, as he stretched out 
upon his creaking cot and revolved his dearest vision? 
rapidly in mind, he smiled ruefully as he thought of the 
heart-thrills of his morning adventure, and the contrast be- 
tween the dark beauty of his psychological experiences and 
the reality of Miss Duval’s steady gray eyes. 


~4 


THF PROMOTION 


How Love makes himself known is a mystery forever un- 
told. But the rare strain of candid simplicity in the Lieu- 
tenant’s character was already suggesting to him that it 
was more than possible that, after a merely eager inspection 
of women, civilian and army, American and foreign, 
throughout college, art, and military life — that, after all, 
this mere processioning, this vague hoping, wondering and 
constant disappointing, the one who was to draw his 
heart forever after hers had come to him this very day 
along the dusty trail to Alcala. It was with something of 
a religious reverence that the man recognized this possi- 
bility of his Day of Visitation, and had he followed the im- 
pulse of his quickening heart he would have burst out into 
a song of gratitude that the spring time of his heart-life 
seemed to be nearing. 

At four o’clock, the earliest possible hour in Don Rod- 
rigo’s easy-going home, the Commandant of Alcala found 
himself tete-a-tete with Miss Duval. The Don and his 
family were grouped around the generous Hilton at the op- 
posite enc? of the spacious “sala,” drawn into convulsive 
laughter by the Doctor’s latest assaults on the Spanish. 
Smith was to drop in later. The Filipina companion . of 
Miss Duval was nowhere to be seen. 

The usual courtesies had followed the entrance of the 
officers and their formal presentation, and Heart held a 
cup of black chocolate in his hand as he began, with out- 
ward assurance, but much inward quaking, the leading ques- 
tions of the conversation. 

“You will pardon my catechism, Miss Duval, but are 
you of the Army Nurses’ Corps?” 

“I have not that honor,” she said quietly as she gave 
him her full attention and released her cup to the Chinese 
servant. “I would have satisfied your evident curiosity 
this morning had you not been so very willing to allow Inez 
and myself our ‘siesta’ first. No, my companion and my- 


THE PROMOTION 2 5 

self are both missionaries, Lieutenant, of the Evangelical 
Mission at Jaro.” 

“A missionary , Miss Duval ?” There was something 
sharper than surprise in his voice. In spite of his deep- 
ening admiration of the charming face before him, he could 
not eliminate a trace of disappointment. “Have the mis- 
sionaries already begun their propaganda in Panay?” 

She read him with a woman’s quickness, but answered 
gently. “Yes, it is very nearly a year now since our mis- 
sion was established in Manila, though but a few months 
since my brother, Dr. Davidson Duval, opened up a station 
at Jaro, adjoining the ‘mercado.’ ” 

“And what does your brother mean,” he asked sternly, 
“by dragging you into such a hopeless and dangerous enter- 
prise? Why do I find you traveling unprotected in a hot- 
bed of ladronism? What must I think of your brother’s 
religion when he allows his sister to behave in this reckless 
fashion ?” 

The beautiful face before him showed no offense. Per- 
haps the note of real concern for her mitigated the effect 
of his words. 

“Do not blame my brother, Lieutenant Heart,” she 
said eagerly. “I am sure that I can defend both him and 
myself in a sentence. This journey of mine, now almost 
completed — for I am returning to Iloilo — was allowed me 
at my earnest request by General Hugelet. I even have one 
of those little green ‘sedulas’ in my traveling bag, signed 
and countersigned. My companion, Inez, has recently at- 
tached herself to our mission, and accompanies me be- 
cause of my limited knowledge of Visayan. My object 
was to secure a translator and competent instructors. I un- 
derstood this could be done at Cabatuan, but I was dis- 
appointed. My brother was quite ill with the ‘dengue’ and 
unable to go himself. I was escorted the entire distance 
from Iloilo to Cabatuan by patrols, and for that very rea- 
c 


26 


THE PROMOTION 


son was anxious to return by this less frequented route. 
I cannot with good conscience cause so much extra patrol- 
ing on the part of men who have full duties without escort- 
ing voluntary travelers. Besides, as my work here is to be 
among the Filipinos, I did not wish to give them the idea 
that I was identified with the military and thus, of course, 
partially alienate them.” 

“I hope that our poor hospitality at Alcala will not 
entirely destroy your influence with our enemies,” he said 
rather stiffly. 

“Don’t, I beg of you, speak so,” exclaimed the young 
missionary, a note of real remorse in her voice. “I have 
already thanked you for the hospitality of this delightful 
old Castilian family and the kind attention shown to us 
here. In a moment I am going to ask for the privilege of 
continuing my journey to the coast this evening, but it is 
anxiety for my brother that prompts the request. I should 
enjoy staying a day longer in Alcala and getting to know 
a little of your command. You know my people were sol- 
diers. I love my country and our Army. My heart thrills 
with every bugle call. But oh, Lieutenant, I can hardly 
hope you will understand me when I say that it is because 
I love my country that I have come to give the best gift in 
my country’s possession to this poor, childish, weak race. 
Will it not be the part of a patriot to give to this people 
the pure, untainted message of Christ’s love as given in 
the Bible that the priests are withholding, and then try 
to exemplify that love by healing their bodies and develop- 
ing their minds? I am getting quite used to the army 
view-point of Christian missions, but oh, that you men could 
be brought to see that as high a call has come to me to 
proclaim my message to this people as to you faithfully and 
mercifully to administer your district !” 

“Miss Duval,” responded the young officer, flushing, 
“do not talk of mercy in Alcala. Look out of your window 


THE PROMOTION 


27 

at those graves under the mango trees. There was a time 
when I could prate about parental care of a childish people, 
but I have found that it is judgment and not mercy that 
thes-e wily Malays need.” 

He hesitated a moment, and then, conscious of a traitor 
tenderness for her, compelled himself to assume a peremp- 
tory tone. 

“Do not be surprised that, with all my reverence for 
womanhood and my necessary homage to your bravery in 
following out your convictions at no little risk to yourself, 
I still cannot but deeply resent your mission to Panay. Here 
is the American Army in a hard and trying foreign ex- 
perience. Its soldiers are many of them mercilessly butch- 
ered by a foe that knows no law of civilized warfare. 
Disease reinforces the boloes of a treasherous people and 
fills our divisional hospitals. Yet you, an American woman, 
a product of our highest traditions, can not only ignore a 
large possible ministry in alleviating the sufferings of our 
men and cheering them with a woman’s sympathy, but 
come to mock us by talk of converting the torturers of our 
comrades. It cannot astonish you that some of us grieve 
at the spectacle of a wasted ministry to a vicious people.” 

She had involuntarily risen from her chair as he con- 
cluded, and he was compelled to follow her example. 
Her face was pale and her eyes glowed. The movement 
drew the attention of the group at the opposite end of the 
“sala,” and, vaguely conscious of something unpleasant, 
they were approaching the missionary and the officer. She 
noticed their approach, but replied deliberately to him with 
a spirit that surprised him. 

“You have doubtless been in these islands for months, 
if not years, Lieutenant Heart. My own experience is 
quite limited, but I wish to say to you that your estimate 
of the Filipino people is singularly distorted. They are 
cruel, but they are also tender. They are deceitful, but they 


28 THE PROMOTION 

are often faithful. They are generous as well as treacher- 
ous. Briefly, sir, they are but children, revengeful, pas- 
sionate, changeable. Those virtues of which you uncon- 
sciously boast yourself over them are the fruitage of true 
Christian teaching — a teaching that you would deny to 
them. But, even though this people were all that you say, 
I should not let your words influence me toward a disobedi- 
ence of the One whom I serve, he who said, ‘I came not to 
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. They that are 
whole have no need of a physician, but they that are 
sick.’ ” 

******** 

At ten in the evening the position of the commanding 
officer of Alcala’s garrison was clearly marked to the eye 
of the sentry in the plaza below by the winking light of 
his cigar, as he sat in silence on the balcony of his quarters 
and stared moodily out into the moonlight. All the inviting 
softness of the night could not allure him from a repeated 
and irritating mental review of his encounter with Miss 
Duval five hours earlier. With kaleidoscopic changes from 
self- justification to self-condemnation, he went through an 
inferno of alternating emotions. The bitter end of a third 
cigar proved the concentration of his mind, and it was only 
with a decided effort that he brought himself to listen to 
the sound of rapid riding on the north road. 

“Post No. 3 has challenged,” he thought languidly, as the 
noise of hoof-beats and the distant jingle of accoutrements 
stopped and then began again. A moment later three horse- 
men trotted out into the plaza and a resonant voice called up : 

“Hello there! That you, Heart? What in the name of 
Expansion are you sitting there in the dark for? We’ve 
come all the way over from San Bias to see the fair guest 
of Alcala.” 

Heart laughed shortly. 

“You didn’t expect an illumination and a ‘bayle’ in honor 


THE PROMOTION 29 

of a little anti-beer, anti-card-playing missionary, did you, 
Turenne?” 

The tallest of the three riders gave a low whistle. 

“So that was her role ! She went through our town to- 
day on the strength of one of old Hugelet’s passes. We 
got her name, but nothing else. This is one on me. But, 
say, can’t we get a look-in anyhow?” 

“You’ve lost again. She went on to Tig-bauan under 
escort four hours ago. Have the orderly put your horses 
up and come up here and drown your sorrows.” 

Two of the dim figures below laughingly dismounted, 
while the third, evidently an orderly, led their horses over 
toward the “corral.” A moment later the lights in the 
Tribunal flashed up. and revealed the new-comers’ features 
as they ascended the stairs to enjoy Heart’s liquid hos- 
pitality. The shorter of the two was dressed in civilian 
clothes, but crowned with a campaign hat and armed with 
a revolver. His face, partly concealed by a curly black 
beard, still furnished evidence, to even a superficial glance, 
of both strength and ability. The dark eyes were somewhat 
restless, however, and even the kerosene lights did not 
fail to reveal the distended veins in the purpled cheeks and 
nose. The tall man — unusually tall — was in a lieutenant’s 
uniform, and was armed like his fellow. His smooth- 
shaven face gave opportunity for a better inventory than 
was possible in his friend’s case. The prominent and 
hawk-like nose, the drawn muscles at the corners of the 
firm, hard mouth, the level brows and high forehead, the 
keen blue eyes, and the bold locks of black hair — these 
marked him as a man of striking and compelling person- 
ality. Of all the young officers of the Ninth Separate 
Brigade, Jack Turenne was the most impudently handsome. 
But he, too, gave unpleasant evidence of reckless living in 
the too-rigid lines of an otherwise youthful face. 

Spinning his corded hat upon the table with the assurance 


THE PROMOTION 


30 

of a frequent visitor, he introduced his companion to Heart 
as “my old friend Whitney, special correspondent for the 
Greater American,” and sprawled into a chair with a sigh of 
discontent. 

“So no Bright-Eyes for us to-night, eh? Think of riding 
twelve miles to see a missionary ! But, after all, she was 
worth the trouble, Heart, for Beauty is her name in spite of 
her dubious occupation. Call Smith and Hilton and let’s 
try to forget our woe.” 

“Smith went with her escort. Hilton will be over from 
the barracks shortly. We won’t wait for him, however. 
Hong Kong ! Bring in that case of whiskey Povey brought 
up this morning, pronto” 

Thus the night began in earnest. A little past midnight, 
when Hilton left the cot of a sick man at the barracks and 
started for his quarter, he was saluted, as he emerged from 
the entrance, by a roaring drinking-song from over the 
plaza, a song so lustily shouted in the upper story of the 
Tribunal that it bade fair to awaken the whole command. 

“Turenne is here again, curse him,” he meditated. “Al- 
cala is surely getting cosmopolitan. An Angel visits us in 
the afternoon and the Devil arrives at night. And the 
worst of it is that the C. O. quarrels with the Angel and fra- 
ternizes with the Devil. I wonder if the quarrel hasn’t 
something to do with the song !” 

Then Doctor Jim, being of a neat and quiet sort, turned 
back to the orderly room of the barracks and sought a hum- 
ble cot in that retired place for the night, being lulled to 
sleep by faint echoes of a stentorian trio from the Head- 
quarter’s windows: 

You’ve only one life to live, my boy, 

So live it with all your might, 

E’en though you have to cut a slice 
Right out of the middle of night, ho ! ho ! 

Right out of the middle of night ! 


IV 


A BLUE LEAF OF HEALING 

HE inevitable pitiless sun was searching with 
fiery fingers through every possible crevice 
in the architecture of the Tribunal as 
Heart, with parched mouth and aching 
head, bade a dull farewell to his compan- 
ions of the night’s carouse, and doggedly 
pulled out a bunch of company papers from his writing 
desk. Turenne had come through the test of the night with 
hardly a jangling nerve to trouble him as he rode back to- 
ward San Bias, and even Whitney sat jauntily in his saddle 
as he braved the hot road. But the young commander had 
not been able to imitate them in their late morning sleep 
of four hours. He had passed through the drinking, the 
singing, and the following hours with the prospect of either 
a drunken stupor or honest sleep becoming more and more 
remote. Drinking far more than his companions, he had 
yet been unable to lose the possession of his faculties for an 
instant, and, though he sang as loudly as they, through both 
drinks and songs a woman’s face had haunted and accused 
him — a face in which the absence of all accusation consti- 
tuted his greatest torture, the firm, sweet, earnest face of the 
young missionary. 

When the last glasses had been emptied, Hong Kong had 
helped the journalist and Turenne to their cots, where they 

31 



THE PROMOTION 


32 

had snored ponderously and leadenly until the middle of the 
forenoon. But the fair visitant’s face had robbed Heart 
even of a desire to sleep, and he had sat alone at the aban- 
doned table while the lamp-light blended into the glare of 
the morning sun. When at length his companions had 
eaten a hasty breakfast, he had found himself unable to join 
them at the food, and, noting this, Hong Kong now slipped 
a huge cup of coffee on to the edge of the desk. Heart 
sipped it as he opened up a file of documents and looked up 
inquiringly as Hong Kong re-appeared and placed at the 
saucer’s edge a dainty blue envelope. 

Heart stared uncertainly at it a moment, and then, with 
a prophetic thrill of glad interest, he read the address upon 
its face, written in a quaint little feminine hand: 

“Lieutenant Herbert Heart, U. S. Army. District Com- 
mander .” 

“What can she have written me?” he mused, hesitating to 
open the missive lest it contain some added reminder of his 
boorishness of the previous day. “Has she suggested an 
apology for my heated attack upon her profession, or has 
she simply sent me an added argument for her side of the 
controversy ?” 

She had done neither. He read with growing tenderness. 

“ Being of an old Army family, Lieutenant, and hav- 
ing met at my old home many of our officers who have 
bravely hazarded all for country's sake, I feel that I 
should frankly write you that I rejoice in your devotion 
to the Flag. I do not hold it against you at all that you 
should resent what to you was no doubt a strange and 
un-American attitude. May I not say that both my 
brother and myself have heard of your chivalrous con- 
duct in the Cuban campaign through common acquain- 
tances in Iloilo? I pray that I may be as utterly, as 
fearlessly devoted to the cause I represent as you have 
shown yourself to be to the cause of your country — my 


THE PROMOTION 


33 

country, please, as well. My brother will greatly appre- 
ciate your hospitality to me and the furnishing of the es- 
cort to Tig-bauan. Very sincerely, 

GRACE DUVAL.” 

His hand shook as he raised the paper reverently to his 
lips. Not until he read its lines of peace and kindliness had 
he realized how heart-sick he had been since he had strode 
stiffly away from Don Rodrigo’s the previous afternoon, 
leaving an uncomfortable group of friends standing discon- 
certed in the old Spaniard’s home. Feverish and haggard, 
and hungry at heart, already feeling that she had awakened 
something within him dangerously near to love, and yet 
fearing that he had disgusted her thoroughly by his blunt 
and discourteous manner, he had begun the letter in nervous 
apprehension of an added sting to conscience. Its healing 
sentences came to him with a gratefulness that made him 
utterly forget his burning eyes and throbbing head, and 
brought out all his real, inner, frank manliness in a flash. 

“May God bless her !” he said fervently, folding the sheet 
and placing it in his blouse pocket. “May God keep her ! I 
think I shall be honest enough to admit to myself that, mis- 
sionary or no missionary, I am from this day forward the 
servant of my country and of Miss Grace Duval.” 


V 


THE LITTLE GENERAL NOTES A CHANGE 

HREE months passed in review before Com- 
pany I at Alcala — a month of withering heat, a 
l|month of dust, and a month of drumming, inter- 
mittent rains. It was during one of the rapid sky- 
changes of the third month that General Mercer 
. .Hugelet, accompanied by Staff Captain Krug and 
t stocky, red-faced Chaplain Tully, flashed into 
Alcala on one of his famous lightning inspections 
of his scattered garrisons, and looked down from the bal- 
cony of the Tribunal upon a humid but sun-lit scene. 

No click of telegraph or beat of hoof had preceded him 
in warning. Nevertheless, he found great satisfaction in 
the things which his eye rested upon, and the multitudinous 
sounds which throbbed up to his ear from the plaza, as he 
seated himself in the wicker-chair pushed forward by 
Dr. Hilton. Even the taciturn Krug wrinkled his stolid 
German face into a smile of kindly approval as he sat at his 
chiefs side and began to pull on a truly Bavarian pipe. 
Tully nodded sleepily in a chair behind the two. Heart was 
out on road inspection, but Smith and Hilton had done 
the honors in good form, and the little, sharp-eyed general 
was too old a campaigner not to appreciate the several little 
courtesies that the two subalterns had modestly offered. 

34 


THE PROMOTION 35 

But it was the plaza sights and plaza sounds which cheered 
him most. 

Below him stretched row upon row of bamboo booths, 
with a swarming, weaving mass of Filipinos, ebbing, flow- 
ing and clustering in the narrow aisles between them. With 
the exception of one or two places where large puddles of 
water still remained from a recent downpour, the whole 
square was given over to the cheerful, gossiping crowd. 
The general had spent over two years now in the islands, 
and he knew the various types instantly; merchants, of- 
ficials, fishermen, rice farmers, mountaineers in their “som- 
breros del monte,” a priest or two, a uniformed policeman, 
a dandy in a black coat and white trousers, a pretty 
“mestizo” girl, a stolid and squat Negrito, a Spanish half- 
caste, an Igorrote. Children swarmed in all corners not 
usurped by their elders, and played among the bright-colored 
cloths, the grass trays of fruit, the woven baskets, and 
the gaudy trinkets. Dogs not a few dozed or raced as the 
mood seized them. Even unarmed American soldiers were 
mingling freely with the natives, and only the ever-alert 
sentries at barracks and hospital reminded an observer of 
the still flickering warfare on Panay. Such a scene of 
amity and commercial activity was doubly pleasing to the 
general, for his naturally humane disposition had been re- 
inforced of late by strenuous demands from Manila for re- 
ports showing a “pacified” island and progress in civil ad- 
ministration. The Anti-Imperialists at home were getting 
unpleasantly active in politics, and the McKinley adminis- 
tration must be vindicated in its “benevolent assimilation” 
program. The general had been worried a good deal in his 
review of conditions in Turenne’s district at San Bias and 
Wilson’s territory around Passi. But here at Alcala was a 
cheering sight, and he was already formulating a report 
in which Lieutenant Heart was to be mentioned with honor. 
He was the more delighted because the last reports of 


THE PROMOTION 


36 

Heart's work had given him the impression that the district 
would be desolate and “raw.” In fact, four months pre- 
viously he had looked himself upon this same plaza, and 
had found it as empty as a grave yard. 

Yet the general was too thoroughly of the old school ot 
Army traditions to express himself very freely to men so 
many grades below him in rank as those seated with him 
in the old Tribu- 
nal, and, had it not 
been for an apol- 
ogy offered by 
Lieutenant Mon- 
taigne Smith, as 
he personally 
placed sweating 
glasses of iced 
lemonade at the el- 
bows of the three 
visitors, the little 
general might nev- 
er have heard the 
story of Alcala’s 
changed policy. 

“We have noth- 
ing stronger in the 
quarters, sir,” 

Monty had said in 
real distress as he 
fixed the general’s glass into the waiting socket in the arm 
of the wicker-chair. 

No words could have been more electric. The general 
withdrew his cigar from his mouth, and held it poised in 
most genuine surprise, while Captain Krug looked even 
more frankly betrayed. 

“Nothing is better than a lemonade in this climate, eh, 




THE PROMOTION 


37 

doctor ?” said the general smilingly, after a pause, but 
there was no great warmth in his voice. “Did — er — did 
your commissary break down ?” 

“Why, no, General Hugelet,” Hilton broke in desperately. 
“The fact is the whole garrison is on the water wagon/’ 

“Somewhat unusual, is it not?” inquired the department 
commander courteously. “I know what you medical men 
say, however, and I presume that you are experimenting 
for purposes of health and efficiency.” 

“Well, no, sir,” said Hilton in some confusion. “I can’t 
claim any credit for the move myself, but Lieutenant 
Heart has inaugurated a radical change 
of policy in the garrison and district, 
and the elimination of alcohol was 
merely one of the incidents of the new 
regime. It began over at the barracks. 
The men had been getting riotous on 
pay day at the Rainier beer agency, and 
they had also begun to smuggle in a 
good deal of native ‘vino.’ Lieutenant 
Heart closed up the agency, shut down 
xfyy i" on the ‘vino,’ and then he thought it 

A NATIVE CONSTABLE W3S 0nl y the S< l Uare th ‘ n § t0 f ° U ° W 

suit here in Officers’ Quarters. Smith 
and myself were willing enough, for we are not tied up to 
the habit. It was rather more of a wrench on Lieutenant 
Heart himself, I think. We all feel rather at a loss on our 
guests’ account, sir.” 

“Don’t worry,” said the general, who was finding the lem- 
onade a better drink than he had dared to hope. “Tell me 
about this ‘new regime.’ I confess that your district is pro- 
gressive of late and highly pleasing to us at Headquarters. 
How did it come about, doctor ?” 

Hilton’s face lit with a real enthusiasm. 

“If it won’t bore you, general, I should be delighted to 



THE PROMOTION 


38 

comply/’ he began eagerly. “You doubtless know, sir, that 
a few months ago we were pretty busy here hunting down 
the murderers of Captain Collins and the men of Company 
M, and even after we had succeeded in bringing most of them 
to justice, we continued a decidedly repressive policy 
throughout the entire ‘pueblo.’ Among other measures, we 
destroyed the greater part of this town and a number of 
‘barrios,’ and forbade even non-combatant Filipinos a resi- 
dence in Alcala. We may have gone too far in that and 
other directions. At any rate, some three months ago, 
Lieutenant Heart very suddenly reversed his policy, and 
issued a proclamation throwing open the district to all 
peaceable natives. They have been pouring in ever since, 
and I’m bound to say that we are having very little trouble 
with them. They have pretty nearly rebuilt this and other 
places, and, as you see below you, the old ‘mercado’ is again 
in full blast. The church, too, has resumed its services, a 
tolerable native constabulary is being formed to check the 
ladrones, a native band has been encouraged with uniforms 
and a little money, and will, I trust, sir, give a simple pro- 
gram in your honor to-night. Some little progress has been 
made in civil government on a very small scale, and an 
election has already placed ‘presidentes’ and ‘chiefs of 
barrio’ in office.” 

“The usual measures, I see,” interrupted the general. 
“But were there any unusual methods? It seems tq me 
that the vigorous policy necessary here a few months ago 
would have left more scars than such a program as you have 
7 outlined could heal in so short a period.” 

“Why, yes, sir. I think the commanding officer has 
succeeded in getting the genuine affection of a large element 
of natives here by one or two rather unusual acts.” 

Staff Captain Krug was listening attentively. He was too 
strict a disciplinarian to endorse any serious departures 
from the usual routine. But his heart had been won a few 


THE PROMOTION 


39 

months ago by the young commander of Alcala, who had 
told him that he believed the victory of Germany over 
France in 1S70 the most decisive in the annals of war.” 

“Vat ver dose unyoosual acts?” he asked in a neutral 
voice. 

“Well, on one occasion the Spanish Bishop at Jaro sent 
a friar out here on some church business, and the lieu- 
tenant refused to allow him to remain, sending him back 
under escort to Ilolio the same day. The people here went 
wild over it, and bored us for a week with deputations pre- 
senting their gratitude.” 

“They certainly hate the friars,” conceded the general 
cautiously, for he had received repeated instructions from 
the War Department to keep on the best of terms with 
the great Catholic Church and its ancient Orders. 

“They would have murdered the fellow if he had remained, 
I fear. Then, too, the ladrone chief, Montor del Moro, who 
had been, as you know, the terror of peaceful Filipinos in 
this vicinity for years, was hunted down and captured. He had 
killed the infant son of the ‘presidente’ of Tig-bauan by 
dashing out its brains against a wall, and eight other mur- 
ders were proven against him and his band of ladrones. 
When we hung him in the plaza below, after fair trial, there 
must have been 15,000 people watching and approving. 
You were in Samar at the time, general, but you no doubt 
knew of the good effect on our own and other districts. 
All the peaceable natives breathed easier after that event. 
Even the insurgent General Concepcion sent us in a note 
of thanks.” 

“Yes, that w T as a good stroke of policy, and better, an 
act of high justice,” said the general with an approving 
nod. “It undoubtedly helped you here. Anything more ?” 

The doctor hesitated. No topic was more to his liking 
than the successes of his old schoolmate, Heart. But he 
feared for the reception of his next words. General Mercer 


40 


THE PROMOTION 


Hugelet was more of a fighter than a statesman. Heart’s 
great hold upon the Filipinos had come from a somewhat 
questionable act. 

“Our present tranquility in the ‘pueblo’,” said Hilton 
with sudden resolution, “is also due, I believe, to the fact 
that on ‘fiesta’ days an unusual privilege is allowed the 
population. As you know, sir, the Visayans are greatly 
attached to their three-striped flag. On the occasion of the 
expulsion of Friar Anselmo they came over to the Tribunal 
in great enthusiasm, carrying the Filipino and American 
flags side by side. The flying of their flag might have 
meant treachery, or at least presumption, but we felt that 
the attendant circumstances indicated quite the opposite, 
and did not demand that it be torn down as we formerly 
would have done. In fact, the lieutenant has issued an order 
that, while the Filipino flag is never to appear above or 
without an American flag, it may be placed side by side with 
it in ‘fiesta’ processions or on other special occasions. It 
seems to please them wonderfully, and they have displayed 
our own flag alone a great deal more often since the order 
was issued, sir.” 

Hilton had ended a little anxiously, but the general re- 
assured him by gravely saying: “On the wh®le a wise 
thing, doctor, although a general order to that effect is 
entirely impossible. The experiment interests me, however. 
It has undoubtedly done you service here. Any other special 
matters ?” 

“We have opened a school,” continued Hilton in relief. 
“Even Lieutenant Smith is on the faculty, teaching English 
an hour a day. The enrolment is good, and we have found 
a fairly good Filipino ‘maestro.’ Then, too, we were very 
careful to obey your order relative to accepting gifts in 
deciding civil questions between Filipinos. They were 
greatly surprised that we took no gifts in return for petty 


THE PROMOTION 


41 

decisions. I think, sir, that your order lost us several good 
ponies and a mountain of eggs and vegetables.” 

The general laughed. 

“That order was a trifle hard on you young fellows. But 
we had to show them the American idea of a judiciary.” 

By this time even Krug, the strict, was on the side of the 
“new regime.” 

“Dere iss von ting off vich you speak not,” he said. “De 
ice in dis lemonade — vere you gedt it ? Dere iss but von ice- • 
blant in Panay, und dot iss midt us in Iloilo.” 

“Why, it’s some of your own ice, captain,” broke in Smith, 
who had been listening delightedly to Hilton’s praise of 
Heart’s policy. “When Lieutenant Heart began the new 
order for the Filipinos he didn’t forget Company I. He’s 
been petting the men with a new policy, too. Not but that 
he makes us work though, sir.” 

“Brings out this ice all the way from Iloilo in sawdust, 
general,” said Hilton. “He began it for the benefit of a 
typhoid case of mine at our hospital. The ice, however, 
helped to lose us the beer and whiskey. When he found 
that he could keep the canteen supplied with iced soft 
drinks he banished alcohol in every shape — said it was bad 
for discipline.” 

The general winced a little at this, and Krug winked slyly 
at Chaplain Winfield Scott Tully, whose red face attempted 
to put on a deeper hue and failed. 

Smith hastened to the rescue. 

“The ‘new regime’ meant also a neat little reading room 
for the men, and an out-of-door gymnasium back of the 
barracks. We’ve got a pretty contented command here, 
sir, in spite of hard patrolling. Of course, we don’t forget 
Captain Collins’s experience here, and Lieutenant Heart 
keeps us ready for any emergency.” 

“Company I has a good record,” said the general gra- 
ciously. “Dr. Hilton must be keeping down malingering. 

D 


42 THE PROMOTION 

It has been with real interest that I have listened to the 
history of your progressive policy. It works, and therefore 
needs no endorsement. We are after results in Panay — 
suppression of the insurrection and the pacification of the 
island. By the by, Chaplain Tully, a vital link is missing in 
this Alcala program, a link that you can supply. Why 
not put a climax to all this altruism, and give the men a 
religious service to-night over at the barracks? You know, 
doctor (turning to Hilton), I went from a pretty stiff 
Presbyterian family into West Point. All this talk on re- 
form has stirred me up. IPs providential that Chaplain 
Tully is here to give us one of his good addresses.” 

At this abrupt proposal the chaplain had stared at his su- 
perior in amazement, but the little brigadier was evidently 
quite serious. 

“I’m — Fm afraid you’ll have to excuse me, general,” he 
stammered in embarrassment. “You know I’m pretty well 
loaded with the care of the regimental bakery and the hos- 
pital and school duties at Iloilo. I really am — ahem — not 
prepared to preach to the men to-night.” 

“Pretty veil loaded ! Dot’s pretty close to de troot for 
Tully,” chuckled Krug in an aside to Monty, who grinned 
appreciatively. But the general, after looking sternly at 
his staff officer, said kindly, as he arose and brushed the 
cigar ashes from his thigh : “Chaplain Tully, gentlemen, 
was known years ago throughout the old Army as a preacher 
of great ability. We have put a good deal of administrative 
work on him of late — too much, I fear, for he is very will- 
ing. He is certainly excused from gratifying a mere whim 
of mine.” 

As he spoke he laid his hand gently on the chaplain’s 
shoulder, but the clergyman’s eyes refused to meet his 
kindly glance, and he sat ill at ease and silent. 

The others had risen with the general, and the interview 
was evidently terminated. Hilton was reaching for his hat, 


THE PROMOTION 


43 

and Smith was about to order up a special luncheon for the 
inspecting party, when the general, taking the doctor by the 
arm, drew him aside and said: “A private query, if you 
please, doctor. The evident change in conditions here 
since my former tour of the island four months ago leads 
me to wonder what caused your very sudden change of 
policy. Can you gratify me? Was it any one thing that 
led to the reversal, or merely the feeling that the time was 
ripe for a different procedure?" 

The doctor stood for a moment non-plussed, an evident 
conflict in his mind. At length, with a smile, he said: “It 
is a question only Lieutenant Heart can fully answer, sir. 
But personally I attribute the change in the main to the 
influence of — " 

He hesitated a second time. 

“Well?" suggested the general. 

“Well, sir, to be frank — of a woman." 

If Hilton had expected the general to inquire further he 
was mistaken, for the only words that grizzled little sol- 
dier uttered as he turned into the room assigned him for 
“siesta" were: “To be sure. To be sure. I remember 
that ‘sedula.’ So she got her interpreter after all !” 


VI 

THE COMING OF THE BLACK-BOUND BOOK 

T was ten o’clock in the evening, and Alcala 
was celebrating. A little group clustered 
in the balcony of the Tribunal to enjoy 
it all : Don Rodrigo, flanked by wife and 
daughter; Francisco Soriano, the newly 
installed “presidente,” and two or three 
of his civil staff; the two local “padres,” one the ascetic 
Najera, the other a veritable “Friar Tuck,” by name 
Ricarte; Smith and Hilton in immaculate white; the chap- 
lain, Krug, and in the background the grave face of Patricio, 
the interpreter, in readiness to build conversational bridges; 
in the center of all the General, in whose honor the party 
had gathered, with the returned Commander of Alcala back 
from road inspection and seated at his beloved superior’s 
right. 

As to the common people, the plaza was swarming with 
them, and in the center of the throng the native band dis- 
seminated good fellowship and romantic sentiment by the 
performance of a program of some merit. The cocoanut 
oil lamps on every house twinkled with a soft, inviting 
radiance, and the Chinese restaurant was not only trans- 
formed by a double row of swaying, gaudy lanterns, but up 
from its roof shot now and then the fiery spire of a rocket. 
Best of all, the cool, moon-filtered night air was blowing 

44 



THE PROMOTION 45 

from the darkly outlined, palmy hills, and the intoxication 
of the “ilang-ilang” was drifting impalpably with it. 

Eleven o’clock, and the band came up under the windows 
of the Tribunal and essayed “The Star Spangled Banner,” 
bringing shrill yells of approval from the soldiers seated 
along the barracks front, and a shower of silver from the 
group on the balcony. Surely all was peace at Alcala, 
through the favor of a woman’s face. 

***** * * 

Suddenly the gathering about the General became aware 
of a disturbance at the farther end of the plaza. A volley 
of angry shouts echoed shrilly above the dying strains of 
the band’s farewell piece. For a moment the crowd of 
idlers below hesitated, and then surged toward the scene 
of conflict. A guard from the barracks ran rapidly in the 
same direction, and a lad — an acolyte of the local church- 
called up eagerly toward the balcony, 

“Padre Najera! Quickly!” 

Without ceremony the priest sprang up and hurried be- 
low, Smith and the Doctor only waiting to grasp their 
revolver belts before following him. 

“The Visayans are children, quick to quarrel, your Ex- 
cellency,” said Soriano reassuringly to the General. “It 
is but a moment’s difficulty. My own police will speedily 
settle the trouble.” 

Heart had remained quietly seated, but as the uproar 
below steadily increased and the crowd of pleasure seekers 
seemed suddenly transformed into a mob, swaying excitedly 
around a vociferous center, he turned to the eager Macklin 
to order out the guard. As he did so, however, the noises 
below suddenly died away, and through the breaking ranks 
of Visayans he saw the dim figures of Smith and Hilton 
coming toward the balcony with a native between them. 

“Turn up the lights, Hong Kong. Pray retain your 


THE PROMOTION 


46 

seats, gentlemen. Let us see what sort of a fish we have 
caught.” 

As the Lieutenant spoke, the officers and their prisoner 
came up the stairs, and met the gleam of the lamp as Hong 
Kong hastened to obey. The crowd on the plaza had moved 
over to the Tribunal, and stood silently, it seemed almost 
sullenly, packed in the shadows below. Najera had followed 
the officers up the stairs, and stood opposite the prisoner, 
looking keenly at him. As to the prisoner himself, he was 
a most forlorn spectacle. Short and squat, almost a dwarf 
by nature, with long arms, short, bowed legs, his head 
crowded down into broad shoulders, his figure alone would 
have caused laughter. But his face was even more em- 
phatically food for the comedian. His matted, stiff gray 
hair bristled over a low, wrinkled brow, from which his 
small eyes blinked under heavy ambushes. His ears were 
large and well up on the head, his nose flat, and his mouth 
flanked by circles of wrinkled skin. He had been dressed 
in the rude clothing of a mountaineer, but the mob had 
apparently battered and mauled him, for his baboon-like 
face was slowly bleeding and his clothing was a mass of 
dirty tatters. 

“What have we here?” asked Lieutenant Heart sternly, 
after the subsidence of a general tendency to laugh at the 
ludicrous figure. 

Patricio stepped forward to question the man, but Najera, 
his eyes snapping with excitement, spoke before h& could 
do so. 

“Pardon, cavaliers, but I can myself inform you. This 
man is the last remaining member of Montor’s band of 
ladrones. I congratulate your Excellencies that you have, 
this fortunate night, delivered us from the one last great 
enemy of my parish.” 

The “padre” had spoken, in Spanish. He turned and 
spoke to the prisoner in the same tongue. 


/ 


THE PROMOTION 


47 

“Your name is Domingo, one-time ‘chieftain with dignity’ 
of the ‘barrio’ Calvary. Later you were with Montor the 
Moro. Is this not so?” 

The prisoner nervously jerked himself into a more up- 
right position, and, fixing his eyes deprecatingly, not upon 
his questioner but upon the young Commander of Alcala, 
muttered a few sentences in his dialect. 

“What does he answer, Patricio?” asked Heart. 

“He says that he is Domingo of Calvary, and that he 
has done much wickedness, but that he has been a different 
man this year, and wishes to live at peace with all men.” 

The Lieutenant turned toward the General. 

“I know of the rascal myself, General. Some months 
ago it was a common thing to hear of his brutalities as a 
chief of ‘barrio’ up in the hills to the west of us. He 
was notorious as a man of bad disposition, who felt com- 
pelled to ‘run amuck’ every few weeks. I heard a rumor, 
too, that he had been with Montor del Moro. It is most 
fortunate, sir, that we have him in our hands at last. Do 
you wish to catechize him, or shall I send him over to the 
guard house ?” 

The General had no questions to put to the prisoner, 
who shuffled down the stairs under escort of Privates 
Macklin and Anton. The crowd had been waiting for his 
reappearance, and made no attempt to molest him, as they 
divined his destination to be the jail. They began, how- 
ever, to shout in unison : 

“Down with the ‘protestante’ ! Death to the enemies of 
the Church !” 

The little General gave a start, jerking his chair forward 
so as to command a view of the plaza better. The whole 
group stirred uneasily. 

“What’s that they are shouting down there?” asked the 
Brigadier, with a suggestion of a steel-spring in the snap 


48 THE PROMOTION 

of his voice. “What has Protestantism and the Church to 
do with this episode?” 

As he spoke the crowd, moving over toward the guard 
house in the wake of the prisoner, shouted again : 

“Death to the Judas traitor ! Death to the infidel ‘protes- 
tante’ !” h 

Hilton had disappeared down the stairs to instruct the 
hospital steward to dress the prisoner’s wounds. He reap- 
peared at the moment. 

“This, may help to explain matters, General Hugelet,” 
he said quietly, extending a little black-bound book to the 
Brigadier. 

Followed by the entire party, the General arose and moved 
over under the swinging kerosene lamp to investigate its 
contents. Fumbling an instant for his eyeglasses, he raised 
the little volume and opened to the title page. 

“Seems to be in Visayan or some other dialect. Here, 
interpreter, what is this title?” 

Najera, his face distorted with suppressed emotion, start- 
ed forward as if to snatch the book from the General’s 
hand, but evidently thought better of his rashness. Patricio 
gravely interpreted: 

“The New Testament of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
Christ.” 

An exclamation of surprise came from several. 

“One thing more, Senor,” said the General quickly, 
“what is the imprint? Where was the book issued?” 

Again the interpreter bent over the little volume. 

“The Evangelical Baptist Mission Press at Jaro,” he 
slowly read. “First edition.” 

Heart could not suppress a start of surprise. 

“The prisoner was selling these on the plaza to-night, 
General, when the mob assaulted him,” explained the 
Doctor. 

As the Doctor spoke, the entire party turned and looked 


THE PROMOTION 49 

instinctively toward Najera. The lean figure of the priest 
had drawn itself rigidly and menacingly up. 

“This complicates the case somewhat, my friends/’ said 
the little General, speaking in Spanish to the entire group, 
but still looking coldly at Najera. “Fair play is a Saxon 
principle. Lieutenant Heart will see that the prisoner gets 
it. My ambulance will start at midnight for Tig-bauan. 
I bid you all good night.” 


VII 


A TRANSFORMED MEMBER OF MONTOR’S BAND 

HE sun had circled thrice since the General’s 
ambulance had rattled away into the south, and 
the day set for the trial of Domingo the ladrone 
spread its hot light over the garrison. 

The prisoner had been brought over to the 
•f 1 Tribunal under guard, and blinkingly faced not 

on iy fhg three commissioned officers of the post, 
but a large number of witnesses and spectators, the more 
important of these seated, but the greater number standing 
closely against the walls. 

Heart had been the last to come in, with his interpreter 
at his back, and as he strode to his place behind the judicial 
desk, he returned the salute of the guards and the rising 
salutation of the Visayans with an air of abstraction. For 
of all men in the room, not excepting even the man on trial 
for his life, the young commander was the most agitated. 
Although in outward manner cool to carelessness, his mind 
was racing between the probable alternatives of the trial. 
To judge a Filipino on any charge had proven on occasion 
an easy matter hitherto, and from the notoriety of Domingo 
in the Alcala district he felt that the decision on the evi- 
dence would be a simple task. Domingo’s condemnation 
would mean, too, a firmer hold upon the confidence of the 
natives in his district, and would help in carrying out fur- 
ther his plans for their benefit. The disturbing element was 

50 


THE PROMOTION 


51 



Domingo’s apparent connection with the Jaro missionaries. 

Every hour of consciousness since the sweet face of Grace 
Duval had looked upon Lieutenant Heart her image had be- 
come more and more sacred to him, 
and, in spite of his training and his 
strongly opinionated nature, he 
knew that his dislike for her profes- 
sion was being steadily undermined 
by his growing love. To bring a 
feather-weight of trouble to her life 
would be a torture almost unbear- 
able to him, and he felt that if a 
tithe of his ideals of her were true, 
the condemnation of the old ladrone, 
though he might be the least of her 
proselytes, would cause her most genuine sorrow of 
heart. It was this fear, as much as the instinct for fair- 
play, which had prompted him to send a message addressed 
impersonally to “The Baptist Mission at Jaro,” reporting 
the arrest of Domingo and suggesting that a representative 
of the Mission be present at the trial. A wild hope had 
surged in his heart that Grace herself might make the jour- 
ney, but he had laughed at his daring hope immediately 
after. “Even the brother would do,” he said to himself with 
a smile, picturing what a veritable gate of heaven an ac- 
quaintance with that brother might prove to be. 

The message had been sent on Tuesday. This was Thurs- 
day. As yet no answer had been received, and he took his 
seat with a hopeless feeling that the prosecution would 
prove the sum-total of the trial. At his request old Don 
Rodrigo had consented to act as “abogado” for the prisoner, 
but for hardly any other reason than to fulfil a conventional 
requirement. 

As Heart settled himself in his chair his eye swept the 
circle of faces before him. Yes, they were all apparently 


THE PROMOTION 


52 

ready to begin. Monty was to act as prosecutor, and he sat 
at the right of the table, with a group of his witnesses about 
him. The priests, officials and audience showed no neces- 
sary man missing. The prisoner was at the left-front of 
the judge, the light from the window striking 
him fairly. Near him sat Don Rodrigo, Hil- 
ton, and a third man of Spanish appearance 
upon whom the young commander’s eyes rest- 
ed an instant in surprise. The man was an 
utter stranger, yet his intellectual 
face and neat dress marked him as a 
man of position. With a sud- 
den hope leaping in the young 
judge’s heart he ani 

the opening of the court. hong kong. 

In the early days of American occupation in the Islands 
a multitude of unaccustomed duties devolved upon the staff 
and line officers of the American Army. Heart had found 
a liberal education in trying to meet the many emergencies 
of administration in his petty kingdom, and although he cut 
the Gordian knot oftentimes, and ignored some of the usual 
formalities of judicial proceeding, his hybrid court, half 
civil, half martial, was soon making creditable progress. 

Amid the most rigid attention of all present, from the 
Presidente Soriano to the humblest betel-chewing native 
who craned his pompadoured head over the more privileged 
ones in front of him, the prosecution began its remorseless 
moves toward the prisoner’s life. A succession of witnesses 
shuffled up before the desk, and, with remarkable agreement 
for Malayan testimony, brought the facts of the prisoner’s 
previous evil life out in detail. As Heart had anticipated, 
it was a record woven in the dark colors of vice and vio- 
lence. Although no murder was directly ascribed to him. 
his cruelty as chieftain of the “barrio” of Calvary was 
clearly shown, and his temporary connection with Montor’s 




THE PROMOTION 


53 

band seemingly proven quite decisively. As native after na- 
tive from Alcala, Tig-bauan, San Bias, and Ignotan gave 
their quick, eager accusation, almost unchallenged by Don 
Rodrigo, Heart, bending his ear to the rapid translations 
of Patricio, began to formulate in mind his closing speech, 
in which he would of necessity seal the prisoner’s fate. 

After going thoroughly into the career of Domingo, the 
prosecution closed with two brief speeches, the first by 
Padre Najera, and the second by Soriano. 

Standing in as dramatic a pose as his hindering “sou- 
tane” permitted, the former spoke, at first sauvely, and then 
vehemently : 

“Knowing the incorruptibility of the illustrious American 
commander, it is with the more pleasure that I urge the con- 
demnation of the criminal who trembles before us. It will 
be thought, perhaps, that my eagerness in his prosecution 
is due to his having espoused the cause of the heretical Pro- 
testants. Oh ! your Excellency, do me no such infamy ! 
Controlled by the pure motive of Christian love for my par- 
ish, my flock over which the Holy Church has made me the 
overseer, I plead with you to condemn and destroy this 
wolf, this devouring enemy of our felicity. Having so fully 
won the unrestrained affection of Alcala, do not forfeit it 
by the release of this traitor to his people’s interests, this 
devourer of the helpless !” 

The “padre” sat down amid a loud murmur of assent from 
the natives. 

. Portly Soriano finished the innings of the prosecution. 
After speaking of his personal knowledge of the prisoner’s 
cruelties, he ended with a plea similar to that of the slender 
Najera. But it was much less effective, the “presidente” 
being unable to resist the temptation to show off a handful 
of recently acquired English words, in place of the sound- 
ing Spanish of his predecessor. 

“Our beloved father een Christo — he spik thee truth. 


THE PROMOTION 


54 

Eet ees the whole people who cry out for Justeece ! Jus- 
teece ! I, Soriano, elected by thees peoples, I know ! Your 
Excellency, Domingo ees as a snake een the grass. He ees 
as a dagger een the darkness. He join heemself to the Prot- 
estants to hide heemself from our revenge. Let heem not 
escape the vengeance of the sublime American law !” 

The “presidente” sat down, mopping his shiny mahogany 
face. 

“Death to the insulter of Mary !” suddenly cried a voice 
near the door. “Kill the Iscariot !” 

A group of natives back of the prisoner swayed menac- 
ingly toward him. 

“Order !” thundered the young judge, forgetting his 
Spanish in the excitement. “Macklin, throw that disturber 
out.” 

“Yis sorr !” 

Macklin’s hand snapped forward in a salute to his grin- 
ning face and backward to the fanatic’s collar. Then, accom- 
panied by a shrill staccato of expostulation, came the sound 
of a rapidly descending body, thumping down the stairs. 

The Americans smiled for the first time in the trial, and 
Heart took advantage of the interruption to light a cigar 
and stare at the stranger seated at Don Rodrigo’s side. 

As has been intimated, Don Rodrigo’s position as counsel 
for the defendant was hardly more than a pleasantry. The 
old Castillian, willing to put a spoke in the wheel of Vis- 
ayan pretension, had once or twice cross-examined a wit- 
ness and shown up trifling disagreements in their testimony. 
He had, too, elicited one or two facts favorable to the pris- 
oner, for instance, that Domingo, when assaulted by the 
mob on the plaza, had refused to strike back at his torment- 
ors, although noted among the Visayans for his strength 
of muscle and quickness of temper. 

Now, however, the Don was able to urge forward a hes- 
itating young native from Santa Barbara, who had come 


THE PROMOTION 


55 

over to the Alcala “Mercado” to trade on the day of Do- 
mingo’s arrest. He deprecatingly witnessed that Domingo 
had been living at Jaro and Santa Barbara of late, and had 
been apparently a changed man. He was kindly and peace- 
able, and did nothing wrong save to associate with the wick- 
ed heretics who were preaching at the Jaro market, and 
sold their books to the “pueblos” and “barrios” around 
Iloilo. 

A sound of dissent and indignation was audible as the 
young Santa Barbara merchant resumed his place against 
the wall, Najera turning and looking at him with a face elo- 
quent of threatenings. 

“And now,” said the courtly ex-Governor, with a gleam 
in his expressive eyes and a rather dramatic pose of his 
body, “and now, your Excellency, I have the honor of pre- 
senting to you the element of surprise, that without which, 
as the poet Valentio has so certainly said, ‘Life were but 
death itself.’ The gentleman who sits with me to-day re- 
sembles so much in face and figure the men of my beloved 
mother-land, glorious Castille, that it is with very many 
grievings that I must present him to you as the American 
Doctor of Theology, Senor Davidson Duval, of the Mission 
Evangelical at Jaro.” 

The bearded stranger had risen to Don Rodrigo’s side as 
his name was announced, a smile struggling with the grave 
lines of his finely moulded face. The announcement of his 
identity was variously received. He had evidently been 
food for speculation in the minds of all present. The ma- 
jority of the Visayans, however, showed little surprise, pos- 
sibly because the introduction was in Spanish. But Soriano’s 
countenance was widely agape, and Padre Ricarte looked 
most comically dismayed. Najera focused his beady eyes 
upon the missionary with a wrinkling brow of impatience 
and chagrin. 

The Lieutenant arose to his feet and acknowledged the 


THE PROMOTION 


56 

bow of the stranger, his example followed more or less re- 
luctantly by the entire assemblage. As they resumed their 
positions Dr. Duval alone remained standing, and his calm, 
sonorous voice began its testimony in faultless Spanish. 

“I owe you something of an apology, Lieutenant Heart/’ 
he said quietly, “for not more speedily replying to your sum- 
mons. Being away upon a preaching tour I found the mes- 
sage awaiting me only last night. It was with difficulty that 
I could arrive but a few brief minutes before this trial be- 
gan. Dr. Hilton kindly piloted me to this room — I met him 
on the plaza — and I now have the honor of speaking in be- 
half of the prisoner. Having spent a number of years in 
Spain in the service of my Board, I take the liberty of fol- 
lowing the example of others who have submitted their tes- 
timony to-day in the Spanish tongue, and using that con- 
venient and beautiful medium. 

“As we have all noticed in the testimony adduced, Do- 
mingo, the prisoner, has lived a life of passion and greed. 
I speak no word of defense concerning his life up to a few 
brief months ago. I am very sensible of the fact that he has 
been a man of violence and cruelties. We who preach the 
gospel of the grace of God are seldom inclined to make 
light of the guilt of man, and in my soul of souls I abhor 
the record of Domingo as revealed to you this morning by 
the witnesses for the prosecution, but confessed freely to 
me months ago.” 

A movement on the part of the prisoner drew the atten- 
tion of the Lieutenant from the speaker. His gray head, 
until now held stolidly and staringly to the front, had first 
turned toward the missionary, and then had fallen forward 
between his hands, while his strange, dwarf-like body 
twitched convulsively. The speaker noticed it, and a smile 
of wonderful tenderness illuminated his face for an instant 
as his eyes fell upon the bowed head with its matted hair. 

“Senores,” he continued, “I first met Domingo perhaps 


THE PROMOTION 


57 

a year ago. It may be a little less than that. I entered 
our little bamboo chapel in Jaro one Lord’s day morning, 
and saw him squatting upon the dirt floor near the plat- 
form. I confess to you that his appearance was almost 
repulsive to me, and it was with great surprise that I found 
him a continuous attendant upon our services. Later on I 
even found him bringing people from his old mountain 
village of Calvary to hear the gospel. As you are all 
aware, though the outward forms of the Catholic faith ob- 
tain quite generally in this island, there remains a great 
deal of the old pagan worship. In view of this fact we 
had provided a box near the pulpit, and it was our custom 
to demand of any who desired to join us that they first cast 
their charms and fetiches into this receptacle. It was with 
no little emotion that one morning I beheld Domingo slip 
up to the box and drop something into it. ‘Confess/ I said, 
approaching him, ‘what has been your charm, the god in 
which you have trusted?’ As I spoke I reached down and 
pulled this object out of the box.” 

The speaker paused and held up a little bottle, partly 
filled with a yellow fluid. 

“ ‘Has this been your god, Domingo ?’ I asked. With 
downcast eyes he nodded his head, and then lifted his face 
and said : ‘Missionary, that bottle of oil has been my charm 
for a long time. Many “anos” ago, when I was but a lad, 
a witch-woman gave me that in a market-place, and told 
me that I should always wear it. I have obeyed until this 
day. Sometimes I would start on a journey without it, 
but if so I seemed always to have bad luck. I could not 
make a good trade. I lost money. It seemed to bring me 
good luck when I wore it. But now I think it was all a 
falsehood. I have heard of the loving Christ. He only 
shall be my trust and my charm from now on’.” 

At this point in the recital several Filipinos along the 
wall felt furtively at their necks to assure themselves that 

E 


THE PROMOTION 


58 

their scapulas were still beneath their shirts. Two or three 
of the officials crossed themselves rapidly. Najera sprang 
to his feet and said angrily : 

“Excellency, is not the learned American merely telling 
us a story? It may be of interest to some, but it is not 
evidence.” 

“Order ! padre, order !” said Heart frowning. “Dr. 
Duval doubtless has good reason for this recital. Let it 
be understood that he is not to be interrupted.” 

The missionary bowed slightly in appreciation, and re- 
sumed his story. 

“After Domingo’s professed conversion he confessed 
frankly to our little circle at Jaro his many sins of the past. 
The unsettled conditions on this island seemed to me some- 
thing of a reason why he should not be turned over to the 
American authorities. Had not America intervened in 
these Spanish colonies to give the oppressed a better 
chance ? Who needed that chance more than the repentant 
Domingo? And as the weeks and months have passed I 
had the evidence that his old habits had been positively 
broken with. So earnest did he become in his new re- 
ligious life that when, a few months ago, we baptized the 
first converts to our faith in the Jaro River and organized 
them into a church, I not only felt Domingo worthy of 
baptism, but rejoiced to see him chosen as the first deacon 
of the little band. The day of his election was a day of 
great gladness to me, although my colleague was near to 
death in our mission house, and my sister also was in pre- 
carious health. But my joy was not to last. The day 
following Domingo was in Iloilo, and being incensed at 
some sneer at his new faith, became violent and quarrel- 
some, and was jailed for fighting his tormentor. 

“Of course the news was a great blow to u$ at the Mis- 
sion. After having labored so long, and at last having 
organized our little band, then to have the leader of it 


THE PROMOTION 


59 

branded with shame on the second day of his induction into 
office was an experience of great bitterness to me. I re- 
fused in consequence either to furnish bail for Domingo 
or to use my influence in having him freed. I sent him 
word that upon his release he was not to return to the 
Mission, but to go back to the mountains. I even in- 
structed my ‘muchacho’ not to admit him into my study. 
He obtained his release a few days later, and at once, in 
spite of my prohibition, came out to Jaro to see me. I 
shall never forget his visit. The ‘muchacho’ tried to pre- 
vent his entrance, but Domingo is a strong old man, and 
he easily pushed my guard aside and stepped into my 
presence. When, looking up, I recognized him, I lashed 
him with every bitter word my rankled soul could summon. 
‘Out of my sight!’ I ended. ‘Never come to me again. 
You have disgraced us all, and there is no way of making 
it right.’ The old man fell as though smitten by a bolt 
from heaven, and groveled upon the floor. I dared not 
look at him for fear that I should relent. As I turned my 
face again to my books he began to pray, and the words 
he said will never leave me. ‘O God,’ he cried, ‘I have 
lost thy Spirit from my heart. Give me back that Spirit of 
peace or I shall die!’ He then rose partly from his knees, 
and with streaming cheeks said, ‘Senor, is it not possible 
for you again to care for me?’ I am not ashamed to say 
that I fell at his side upon my knees, and put my arm about 
him, and told him that I freely forgave him. I had no 
sooner done so than his face was illuminated. ‘God has 
once more put his good Spirit into my heart,’ he said 
brokenly, and bowed his head in thanksgiving. 

“Now you may wonder why I tell this simple story. It 
is all as an introduction to the statement which I now de- 
sire to make. Listen ! From that day in my study until 
this present time, months of bitter persecution have passed 
over Domingo’s head, and he has been mocked and mobbed 


6o 


THE PROMOTION 


many times. But of my own intimate knowledge I can 
testify that he has lived a pure, a humble, an industrious, 
and a kindly life. He has acted as an agent for the sale of 
our books of late, and he has had many provocations. Yet 
he has never even struck a man since that scene in my 
study, and many of the people of Jaro, of Molo, of Pavia, 
and even of Calvary ‘barrio,’ have come to love the old 
ex-ladrone. The other day I was interested in hearing a 
group of men in a market-place telling about some one t 
whom they repeatedly called ‘Si Gugma.’ I am just getting 
a slender hold on the Visayan dialect, and I broke in with 
a query, ‘What is the meaning of the name “Si Gugma”?’ 
They replied, ‘It is a nick-name. It means “Old Love”.’ 
‘To whom do you apply it?’ ‘Why, do you not 
know?’ they asked. ‘That is Domingo’s new name. Ever 
since the great change in him he lives so kindly a life and 
speaks so often of the love of God to the people that all 
about here are calling him “Old Love.” ’ ” 

The missionary had concluded his words with deep feel- 
ing. As he took his seat there was an intense quiet, even 
the uneasy Najera sitting as in a spell, watching the face 
of the prisoner. Heart’s even voice broke the silence. 

“Patricio, ask the prisoner if he has anything to say to 
us.” 

The interpreter stepped over to the prisoner, whose head 
had remained bowed throughout Dr. Duval’s recital, and 
put the question to him. The whole manner of the man 
had hitherto been awkward and diffident, but when the 
meaning of the interpreter was made clear to him he 
dropped his hands from his face and rose from his chair. 
As he did so Heart remarked again the baboon-like face, 
the gnarled, dwarfed, powerful body. 

Clasping his hands as they hung before him, the old 
man bowed humbly to his judges, and began to speak. As 
he poured forth the Visayan dialect, a rude and tumultuous 


THE PROMOTION 


oi 


vocabulary, his soul seemed to triumph over the hideous- 
ness of his face, and his stunted body appeared to straighten 
and gain by inches. As he continued one by one his audi- 
ence capitulated, and stood or sat in motionless attention. 
Even Heart and his brother officers, who understood but 
little of the dialect, were amazed at the transformation of 
the man’s form and face. He was pouring out his very 
soul, and the whole Tribunal did him homage. 

He had first spoken haltingly of his past life, and as he 
did so two tears welled in his little eyes and rolled into the 
wrinkles of his cheeks. He went on apparently to tell of 
his conversion, for his face grew glad, and he gesticulated 
toward Dr. Duval in evident gratitude. Then came the 
climax of his testimony. Raising his smiling, grizzled old 
face upward, and stretching out his huge and muscular 
arms, he struck himself repeatedly upon the breast and 
said, while the tears again flowed from his eyes: 

“O masters! my wickedness is past, and my heart has 
been made pure. Fear me not. There has been a great 
change. I do not know how it was done. Once I was 
cruel; once I was thievish; once I was evil-minded. But I 
cannot do the old things any more. I cannot hate. I can- 
not strike back. My heart is filled with love. I feel like 
the thirsty palm-tree in the cool night wind, for God’s 
Spirit has come to me. God’s Word has spoken to me. 
This is love, not that I love God, but that he loves me and 
gave himself for me! Americans! Spaniards! Filipinos! 
Let us all serve the great Christ together! Let us be 
brothers, with all the wickedness gone out of us !” 

It was not the words which moved the very souls of his 
hearers. They were, in fact, but partly understood by 
Heart and the other Americans in the room. Even with 
some who comprehended them they were hardly heeded. 
But the unbroken silence that held the court-room in thrall 
as the old disciple stood silently awaiting permission to be 


62 


THE PROMOTION 


seated, gave evidence that the power of a tremendous fact 
was gripping their souls. Not a few in that audience had 
seen Domingo on other occasions, in the old days when his 
hideous face had been their terror in a raid of fierce la- 
drones from the hills. For a moment prejudice of race and 
of religion were swept like chaff before the testimony of a 
changed life. The alchemy of the grace of God had been 
demonstrated before them. Another soul was living in 
old Domingo’s body. Out of the windows of a Caliban hut 
they beheld the flashings of a princely spirit, and a fact 
had battered down their theories with a single crushing 
blow. They would recover in a moment. Meanwhile Heart 
was speaking: 

“It only remains to pronounce sentence,” he said gravely, 
almost reverently, as he stood and faced the prisoner. “It 
is, however, beyond my power to sentence the Domingo 
of the past, and he alone has been condemned. It is not 
Domingo, but ‘Si Gugma’ who is with us here. There is 
no charge against that name on the books of this court. 
‘Si Gugma,’ the court requires you to return to Calvary 
‘barrio’ to administer it upon the principles of your new 
life. The present chief of that ‘barrio’ is a rascal who 
never had enough energy to be a ladrone, and, I am afraid, 
will never have enough sense to be converted. I appoint 
you as his successor. Go back to your people and make 
amends for the past. The court is dismissed.” 

“Say, Smith,” whispered Hilton, as the two watched the 
now sullen and resentful Visayans filter away across the 
plaza, while Heart pressed an invitation to luncheon upon 
Rodrigo and the missionary, “that was a miracle which we 
witnessed just now. You and I have seen a good deal of 
these Visayans. Have you ever seen one shed a tear be- 
fore?” 

“Heavens, no!” said Monty solemnly. “If I had been 
back in old Detroit to-day, and seen that wooden Indian 


THE PROMOTION 


63 

out in front of Crecy’s smoke-shop suddenly blow its nose, 
I wouldn’t have been so eternally dunder-struck as I was 
when that old ladrone turned on his water works. A 
Filipino weeping over his sins ! Pinch me 1” 


VIII 

AN INSURGENT TORCH FOR CALVARY 

LA.RT stood watching the early morning 
drill as Company I swung and flowed in 
veteran ease at the command of the first 
sergeant. He noticed with satisfaction the 
lack of stiffness in the line. The men were 
not acting like a machine. They were rip- 
pling and snapping through their evolu- 
tions with a grace acquired through long 
acquaintance with each other and hearty 
devotion to their officers. 

Only a brother line officer could appreciate 
the exultation of the post commander as the sun-tanned 
faces flowed past him at changing angles. Every indi- 
vidual in the ranks he knew, and though a mixed lot in 
race, morals and education, he felt them to be welded into 
one multiplied, living obedience to orders. Another reflec- 
tion went even nearer to his heart — he had reason to be- 
lieve that the greater part was most passionately devoted 
to himself. Heart had been an officer of Company I now 
for more than two years; first as a second lieutenant, then 
as a first lieutenant, and now, in the absence of gruff old 
Captain Blakeslee, as commander. He had drilled them, 
scolded them, praised them, and (I grieve to say) cursed 
them. Many of them he had personally recruited. He had 
invested in them a thousand little kindnesses. No cook 

64 



THE PROMOTION 


65 

could easily scale down their full ration, and no embryo 
gamblers from the “Q.M.D.” were able to fleece them on 
pay day. The young officer’s watchfulness had followed 
them, not only through their hours at the garrison, but 
even while off duty and “on leave.” Beginning this pa- 
ternal policy as a matter of efficiency, he had continued it 
because of his genuine interest in the individual men, and 
no junior of the Army was, in consequence, more devotedly 
served. At first the new men made the usual attempts to 
“bluff” the youthful, even boyish looking officer, and tried 
with the ingenuity born of hours of meditation in quarters, 
and assisted by a wealth of Army traditions, to “work” 
him. But this could not flourish long. These “rookies,” or 
drafted men from more discontented commands, soon felt 
the double shock of the keen lieutenant’s sharp checkmate, 
and the inelegantly expressed disapproval of the barracks. 

“They’re the finest in the Fifty-fifth, and aching for a 
fight,” he mused, leaning against the arch of the barrack’s 
entrance. “Shutting down on ‘bino’ and Povey’s precious 
brand has done them good. But I must keep up their ra- 
tion, and see they get an extra now and then, for an army, 
as the great Boney has well said, travels on its stomach.” 

He made a mental note of a requisition for some of the 
fresh onions which, quick gastric rumor had it, were being 
piled up at the Iloilo wharves, and as he did so, suddenly, 
around the far end of the “convento” a “muchacho” ap- 
peared, his feet twinkling with a burst of speed as he es- 
pied the officer and ran to him. He evidently carried news 
of moment, for his face was shining with perspiration, and 
his feet were bleeding through their dustiness. 

“At your feet, Cavalier!” he gasped, his brown hand 
clutched convulsively over his breast and his eyes rolling. 
“The ‘insurrectos’ burned Calvary ‘barrio’ last night, and 
killed many defenseless ones because of Domingo, the 
protestante — ” 


66 


THE PROMOTION 


The Commander waited for no more. 

“Here, Anton!” he cried to the sentry at the entraxice. 
“Hold on to this ‘muchacho’ for me — ” and he dived into 
the arch. 

“Commanding — officer — turn — out — the — guard !” bawled 
a hastily appearing sergeant. 

“Never mind the guard,” echoed the Lieutenant sharply. 
“We’ll want the whole command this time. Smith above?” 

“Yes, sir. With the company clerk, sir.” 

“Tell him I want him at headquarters at once. ‘Pronto/ 
Wilson!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The Sergeant was off, and the Commander as well, first 
shouting a command to the First Sergeant which brought 
the drilling men to dismissal, and then racing over to the 
Tribunal with the Visayan runner behind him. 

“Here, Hilton, pump this fellow while I ’phone Iloilo. 
Calvary ‘barrio’ was burned last night, and if I understand 
this ‘hombre’ aright, it was because of my court decision 
the other day. Bring in Patricio to help you. Quickly, 
old man!” 

“Patricio has disappeared. I’ve hunted the whole premi- 
ses for him. He must have stayed out in town last night,” 
responded the Doctor, springing up from the table. 

“Do your best alone, then. Get the details while I get 
Iloilo.” 

As the Doctor pulled the panting Visayan to a seat and 
began his inquisition, Heart sprang to the telephone. But 
it rang before he reached it, and he bent his ear expectantly 
to the faint voice of far-away Krug, creaking north over 
the faulty wires in short, vigorous sentences. 

Fifteen minutes later Company I was one glad mob of 
intelligent motion. The whole garrison buzzed with pro- 
phetic activity, and out of the “corral” raced a mounted 
detachment of seven cheerful units under brave Irish De- 


THE PROMOTION 


67 

laney to scout the Calvary trail. Hardly had their dust 
settled on the plaza when the entire company swung at a 
lively step through the town and into the same trail, Heait 
and Smith ahead of the long brown line on their willing 
ponies. 

“Good-bye, Doc. Hold down Alcala till we get back,” 
shouted the latter, waving his hat to Hilton, who leaned 
wistfully over the veranda of the Tribunal, for orders were 
orders, and he must remain in command of the post with 
a dozen other malcontents as garrison, while his friends 
and his comrades had the favor of Mars and the privilege 
of a blistering “hike” and the joy of a possible angry argu- 
ment with wily old Concepcion in the brown hills to the 
west. 

“Always my luck,” thought the victim. “Hope Herbert 
gets a flesh-wound and a trip to Brigade Hospital out of 
this. A trip to Iloilo might do him good. Somebody 
lives quite close to Iloilo.” 

He watched the last scintillations of the disappearing 
rifles, and then called down to the lonesome sentry be- 
neath the balcony, 

“Castells!” 

The man looked up and saluted. 

“I haven’t an orderly here. Go over to the barracks and 
tell the sergeant to instruct the outposts. No Filipinos are 
to leave the town by any trail earlier than noon. No ex- 
ceptions to this. Lieutenant Heart’s orders.” 

“All right, sir. We can hold ’em in, sir,” and the sentry 
hurried over the plaza through the increasing number of 
excited Visayans. 

***** 

When twelve o’clock came, by authority of a moist watch 
pulled from Monty Smith’s sweaty “khaki” blouse, Com- 
pany I halted on the Calvary trail, spread itself out in the 
scanty shade, peeled off the tops of corned-beef cans. 


68 


THE PROMOTION 


spilled hard-tack crumbs over itself, and guzzled at luke- 
warm canteens. Then, with its hat over its face and its 
knees up, it slept around a mound of haversacks and 
blanket rolls, while its officers counseled and planned and 
tried their feeble Visayan once more upon the runner from 
Calvary. By what they could gather from his mixture of 
Spanish and dialect, old Concepcion had been lingering 
around Calvary in the hills for some days. The “barrio” 
itself was wretched and unprotected, save for a detail of 
recently organized native police armed with bolos. Its 
people were all of the peasant class, and had taken little or 
no part in the insurrection. They were nick-named “Cara- 
bao” by the more urban populations, and their neutral at- 
titude in only asking the privilege of peaceable lives had 
caused them no little petty persecution from the cattle- 
hungry band of patriots who still clung to the waning for- 
tunes of the insurgent chieftain. 

Upon Domingo’s release three days before, he had gone 
back, attended by a small escort of American soldiers, to 
his old “casa” in the “barrio,” and had been on the whole 
quite warmly received. Several of the families had been 
under the influence of Dr. Duval’s preaching at the Jaro 
market-place, and these had led in a little celebration over 
the return of their fellow villager. Several rude American 
flags had been displayed, and the American escort treated 
with simple hospitality. Hardly had the escort left, how- 
ever, when a note came in from the insurgents saying that 
they had heard of the disregard of the wishes of Alcala in 
respect to Domingo, the ex-ladrone, and considered his re- 
ception and the raising of the American flag at Calvary 
“barrio” a gross insult to the honor of the Filipino Re- 
public. “Let all friends of the North Americans beware of 
the wrath of the illustrious Concepcion.” 

Upon the arrival of this threat Domingo had at once 
left for Jaro, not wishing to cause the ruin of his village. 


THE PROMOTION 


69 

and it was hoped that his withdrawal would soothe the 
angered insurgents. But on the contrary, it led to the 
destruction of the place. Last night the “barrio” had been 
stormed and searched for the hated “protestante” ; and 
when he was not found, the entire place was burned, sev- 
eral who were suspected of Protestant or pro-American 
leanings were murdered, and the native police taken prison- 
ers to the hills. Not only this, but Concepcion’s men had 
openly boasted that they would soon repeat their tactics 
at Ignotan and other hill “barrios.” 

“It seems strange, Monty, that you and I should be out 
to avenge the burning of a Filipino town, doesn’t it?” asked 
Heart as he sat braced against a palm tree in the midst of 
his sleeping men. “Four or five months ago we would 
have chuckled over such an act on old Concepcion’s part. 
Yet here we are fighting for the Filipinos against their own 
idol! I, at least, must be in a state of evolution. Now give 
me your attention a moment on this map. The General 
was kind enough to place Turenne’s men at my disposal. 
They will meet us at Ignotan to-night, coming over from 
San Bias. I do not think that either they or we will see 
an insurgent before to-morrow morning, if then. Concep- 
cion has tasted blood, however, and I expect Ignotan will 
be his next objective. He will probably attack within 
forty-eight hours. If we can get in ahead of him, why, our 
task will be easy so far as defending the town is concerned, 
and perhaps there will be an opportunity for a crushing 
blow. Now let us give this back country around Ignotan 
a little consideration. If we can only come in behind him 
while he’s busy with the attack on the ‘barrio’ — ” 

* * * * * 

At four o’clock Company I was doubling down the hills 
into the blackened pit which once had called itself Calvary, 
and its columns were augmented by frightened natives 
who trailed disconsolately back to their ruined domiciles. 


THE PROMOTION 


/O 

But the men did not halt long at Calvary — only until the 
Lieutenant examined, with the aid of a picked-up interpre- 
ter, the survivors of the massacre of the night before. 
Then hurriedly through the still smouldering place the 
command picked its way, eager for the sound of hostile 
firing. At seven o’clock the trail twisted to the right, and 
at nine o’clock the scanty lights of Ignotan twinkled below 
them in a cup-like valley. A half-hour later they were 
fraternizing with Turenne’s command, who, reckless and 
fight-hungry, had rioted over on Cagayan ponies from 
San Bias and occupied the town from its opposite end a 
scanty half-hour before them. 

Turenne greeted Heart with a laughing sentence. 

“So you got your Sunday-school here at last, did you, 
Heart? By Jove, sir, but I’ve heard terribly pious things 
of you since last we met. Here’s the house the ‘presidente’ 
has reserved for your use to-night as a headquarters. Come 
in and take a ‘How’ to old Concepcion’s confusion.” 

Heart’s response was purely official. 

“So this is the headquarters shack for the night? Let’s 
go in then, and get to work on our little problem. We’ll 
cut out the drinks, thanks. I’m a temperance crank now- 
a-days.” 


IX 



THE WATER-CURE AT IGNOTAN 

IDNIGHT found Ignotan in profound dark- 
ness, its only light filtering through the head- 
quarters “casa,” a building somewhat larger 
^ than its fellows, and standing high upon bam- 
boo stilts in the center of the tipsy row of 
houses constituting the one long street of the 
town. A gentle rain had begun to fall, and 
made an infinity of black, changing lines 
across the gray murk of a starless sky. It 
also gently, persistently soaked through the 
shoulders of Private Anton’s khaki blouse as he stood pa- 
tiently on guard in the mud. 

Anton was a native of Mesopotamia, with its dry, date- 
bearing soil. He disliked a wetting as sincerely as a house- 
cat, and moved closer up to the shelter of the headquarters, 
hearing with satisfaction the rattle above his head as the 
nipa leaves of the projecting thatch stood guard above him, 
and bravely met the down-pour. As he settled his back 
against the supporting bamboo stilts and wiped the breech 
of his gun with the dry side of his sleeve, his ear caught a 
mere suggestion of a foreign sound — a sound which he 
knew to be no part of the low voices of his officers from 
within, or the beat of the rain without. It seemed to come 
from directly behind him, and he stooped and stared into the 
blackness beneath the house. But his eye was balked, and, 

7i 


THE PROMOTION 


72 

not hearing a repetition of the sound, he muttered a male- 
diction upon both Ignotan with its mud and its rain, and 
the gaudy army poster which had allured him into the ser- 
vice, and again composed himself with eyes toward the 
shadowy road, rifle ready, but thoughts far off in the valley 
of the great Euphrates, the cradle of his race. 

Thus it was that an unobtrusive, retiring Visayan heard, 
with unmoved face but quickly beating heart, valuable in- 
formation for his side of the coming rifle-debate, and stole 
from under the split-bamboo floor and safely away through 
the slippery grass to the side entrance of the barrio chapel, 
a hundred yards back up the hill from the dingy street. 

Heart, in the room above the place vacated by the spy, 
unwound his legs and rose, stretching, to his feet. Turenne 
still sat looking carelessly at a candle-lit map spread out on 
the floor. His junior lieutenant, Henry, cross-legged and 
nervously twisting his hat-cord, looked up at Heart ex- 
pectantly. Smith, slender and debonair , stood in belted 
readiness against the wall. 

Heart yawned prodigiously. 

“That’s all, I think, gentlemen,” he said, reaching for his 
hat. “Concepcion will doubtless attack in the early morn- 
ing, if at all. Smith will hold him, even with thirty men of 
Company I. Don’t utilize more men at first. If he thinks 
us weak he will become careless. Lieutenant Turenne and 
his scouts will, as soon as the firing begins, circle well to 
the north of any line which the enemy develops, and will 
strike back in toward the old sugar-mill which Delaney re- 
ports as directly beyond the first ridge to our west. This 
will result, I trust, in a heavy loss to the enemy, who, pro- 
vided the mill is captured, will find themselves in a bad 
cross-fire as they advance on Ignotan. With the remainder 
of Company I, as already outlined, I will at once start back 
toward Calvary, and then, by the use of the hill trails, circle 
the enemy’s right and be in a position to attack him in his 


THE PROMOTION 


/.) 

rear in conjunction with Turenne’s movement. It is very 
important that we act together. Don’t precipitate the fight 
The longer Concepcion delays the more time I shall have 
for my turning movement. He can’t have less than a couple 
of hundred rifles. Let him do the brunt of the powder- 
burning. I’ll make the rounds of the outposts with you, 
Smith, before I leave. Good-night, and good luck.” 

Turenne puffed the candle out, and the two departing offi- 
cers, pulling down their hat-brims, stepped out and down \ 
into the rain, both searching the 
gloomy night keenly as they 
stumbled on in the mud toward 
the southernmost outpost. They 
could not have covered a dozen 
yards when both stopped ab- 
ruptly and stood staring to their 
left, up the hill. The tower of 
the chapel rose indistinctly 
against the sky-line, and an un- 
mistakable light shone intermit- 
tently from its belfry. And it 
was a light of strange behavior. 

In the few seconds that the two 
Sons of Mars stood regarding 
it, it had swung to the right in a 
complete circle, back to the left in two more, had halted, 
had disappeared — re-appeared — disappeared finally. 

Neither officer had spoken, but, moved by the same im- 
pulse, they turned their faces westward and waited. Their 
instinct was unerring. Far off in the rainy, uncertain gloom . 
which they knew to be the line of the Antigue hills, they 
saw a pin-point of reddish light appear — circle — disappear. 

“Now, Monty ! up the hill to the chapel ! It will be the 
side door. Don’t let the rascal answer that last one — ” 
Heart whispered hoarsely, his eye turned back toward the 
F 



THE PROMOTION 


74 

tower. If he begins before you get there I’ll send a shot 
into the belfry. Anton ! quick with you ! Follow the Lieu- 
tenant !” 

The two scrambled off the road, and up through the 
underbrush of the slope, lost almost instantly to the eye 
of the young commander who stood alertly in the road be- 
low, his face growing impatient as he found himself able to 
follow Anton’s clumsy step with his practised ear. Some 
one else heard also, for Turenne suddenly loomed at his 
side with a whispered query. 

“Insurgent signals from the church tower,” rapidly ex- 
plained Heart. “Go up and help Smith, Turenne. We must 
interrupt this at once. 

Turenne was swallowed up of darkness, and again the 
young commander stood alone in the street. He drew his 
heavy Colt from his belt, and tensely waited while the rain 
sifted unnoticed upon Him. 

“Ten seconds more and Smith will be up there,” 1?<* 
thought. “But we can’t let this flame conversation continue 
another syllable. If it shows again I’ll try a shot.” 

As if to mock him the eye of fire suddenly appeared in the 
black tower, held motionless for an instant and then began 
slowly to circle. 

“Bang!” 

The Lieutenant had fired accurately. The report of his 
heavy revolver had scarcely crashed into the night when the 
light in the belfry went into a spray of sparks and disap- 
peared. Almost immediately Smith’s shrill voice cried ex- 
ultingly down from the slope. 

“All serene, Lieutenant ! We have him salted down. 
Are you all right yourself, sir?” 

Plunging forward through the wet grass Heart found 
Turenne and his fellow officer, with Anton, kneeling around 
a prostrate figure stretched in the mud at the side door of the 
chapel. The spy had apparently dashed down the stone 


THE PROMOTION 




75 

stairs from the tower, had raced through the interior, and 
had been felled by Anton’s clubbed rifle as he stumbled out 
of the entrance. He had fallen without a cry, and a curi- 
ously perforated box had rolled from his hand down the 
slope. He had used it to cover his torch between signals. 

“We’ll have him in speaking shape shortly. Anton didn’t 
lay on quite square enough — took him on a slant,” said 
Turenne, coolly rubbing his hand over the 
prostrate man’s skull and wiping his bloody 
fingers on the wet grass. “Shall we get what 
we can out of him, Lieutenant?” 

“Yes, if he comes to, find out what 
you can from him. Anton, get a man 
to help you carry this fellow. Lieu- 
tenant Smith, remain here with Lieu- 
tenant Turenne. I’ll make the rounds 
alone.” 

So saying, the young officer hur- 
ried rapidly away to inspect and re- ^ ^ ^ 

assure his posts, for he could hear the 
sound of hurrying feet scrambling up 
toward the chapel, and knew that his interference. 
shot had brought out the sergeant with the relief. In 
fact, the whole command was stirring uneasily about 
as he stumbled hurriedly down between the gloomy houses. 
In twenty minutes he had completed his rounds and had 
given the necessary orders to the detachment, who were to 
leave immediately under his personal direction for the forced 
march around Concepcion’s position. Delighted with the 
promise of an adventure, they were growling good-na- 
turedly, sotto-voce, some forty strong, lined up in front of 
the headquarters as he returned. They were still shifting 
straps and buckling on belts, but they had made a lightning 
response to their orders. 



THE PROMOTION 


76 

“Where did Lieutenant Turenne have the prisoner taken 
for examination, men ?” 

Two or three shadowy figures nearest him replied: “Down 
at the bridge, sir.” 

With a low exclamation of dismay Heart wheeled, hurried 
through the wondering men, and down the street toward the 
northern end of the town where he remembered crossing 
a bridge but a few minutes before. Thirty seconds of rapid 
walking and he had reached the spot, his fears being more 
than realized as he sharply halted and leaned over the stone 
parapet. 

Just below him on the bank of the stream a soldier of 
Turenne’s detachment was mothering a small fire at the 
water’s edge. The rain was sputtering into it, but it gave 
enough light to enable the young commander to make out 
not only Turenne, but Henry and Smith, standing absorbed 
in its glow, gazing out over the surface of the little stream 
at a tableau of exacting interest. Three soldiers were 
splashing uncertainly about in the current, which ran waist- 
high where they stood, struggling to immerse a fourth 
man, whose piteously protesting voice whined, sputtered and 
shrieked in agonized fragments of Visayan. 

“For God’s sake, men,” called Turenne from the bank, 
“stop that fellow’s noise. You act as if you were trying 
to rock a baby to sleep. Hold him under, can’t you !” 

The sarcasm apparently bit into the struggling men. They 
gripped their victim by arms and legs, and pinned him re- 
morselessly down beneath the bubbling water, his eyes 
rolling in terror, his last cry choked in the foam of the 
struggle and his muscles relaxing in despair. 

“Take that man out on the bank!” 

It was the vibrant voice of Heart from the bridge above. 
The dark figures in the water below stared up at him in 
amazement, and an angry voice called up from the fire: 


THE PROMOTION 77 

“Why, Lieutenant, you don’t understand, sir. We’re giving 
him the water cure. He won’t open up any other way. 

“I understand, Lieutenant Turenne,” snapped Heart 
swiftly. “That is why I stopped you, sir. Hurry there, 
men ! Get that Filipino to the shore and pump the water 
out of him.” 

As the men lifted their now limp burden up and started 
slowly in toward the fire, Lieutenant Turenne ran hastily 
up into the road and met his superior half-way as he left 
it to descend. 

“Your pardon, sir,” he said angrily, yet cautiously lower- 
ing his voice so that his brother officers, a dozen paces 
back, might not hear his words. “Your pardon, sir, but I 
wish to know why you interfere here. Those who know 
Jack Turenne best agree that he doesn’t forget an insult.” 

Lleart looked up at the stalwart figure towering above 
him in the road. 

“I regret having had to interfere, Turenne,” he answered 
calmly. “It certainly must seem strange to you, for we’ve 
done this sort of thing together many times.” 

“Then, in the name of decency, what did you do it for?” 
Turenne’s voice was rising with impatience. 

“Because I don’t believe any more in the torturing of 
prisoners, sir.” 

Turenne mixed a laugh with a sneer. 

“Pardon my laughter,” he said with mock politeness. “I 
had heard of your remarkable conduct of late, but I didn’t 
realize that you had sunk to the level of idiocy — ” 

“You forget your uniform, Lieutenant Turenne,” said 
Heart coldly. 

“Not at all. I was only about to say that I consider 
myself most grossly insulted by your interference with 
this examination. You are my senior and in command 
here. I was trying to help you by obtaining information 
from a spy caught in the very act of betraying us. Yet I am 


THE PROMOTION 


7 » 

made the laughing-stock of my own men. Until to-night I 
have called you my friend. I cannot see my way clear to 
do so from this night on. May God protect Jack Turenne 
from the friendship of an impertinent old maid !” 

“I am a true enough friend of yours to allow your words 
to go unresented, ” returned Heart, calm with an evident 
effort. “For there is an excuse for you under the circum- 
stances. Perhaps I can prove my sincerity at least. Step 
with me to the fire, please.” 

The four privates of Turenne’s scouts had, in obedience 
to Heart’s orders, worked over the exhausted, half-drowned 
Visayan, and had just succeeded in bringing him to semi- 
consciousness. They bolstered him up against a tree and 
sullenly saluted as Heart approached the fire, where Smith 
and Henry had stood, uncomfortably conscious of the 
quarrel in progress above them. 

“I have a few words to say to you all,” Heart said firmly. 
“It is for you men here as well as your officers. I in- 
terfered with this examination to-night because I can no 
longer sanction the torturing of prisoners. At one time, 
and not a remote time either, I suffered no qualm of con- 
science. Of late, however, I find myself unable to reconcile 
this practice of repeatedly drowning and resuscitating a man 
until he divulges his secrets, with either the rules of civil- 
ized warfare or the high traditions of our service.” 

He turned to the prisoner as he spoke, his eye rapidly 
traveling over the pitiable wet figure. The blood from 
the wound caused by Anton’s rifle butt was renewing its 
trickling. 

“No, no more violence,” he ended sternly, bending more 
closely over the spy. “Who is this ‘Khakiak,’ Monty? 
Something seems familiar about his face. Ever see him 
before ?” 

In response to the question, Lieutenant Smith knelt 


THE PROMOTION 


79 

down and turned the face of the faintly breathing man 
toward the smouldering fire. 

“Here, one of you, help me turn him. And one of you 
stir that fire up a little,” he directed. 

A private threw cn a handful of dry leaves which flashed 
a moment’s defiant flame up into the rainy night, and out- 
lined clearly the form and face of the prisoner; a powerful 
frame for a Visayan, and a strong, square face, handsome 
in spite of its bloodiness. For a full half-minute the group 
waited while Smith searched keenly, feature by feature, 
the countenance of the prostrate one. “Hey, ‘hombre,’ open 
your eyes. ‘Pronto’ !” 

In languid response the man’s eyelids parted, and he 
stared uncomprehendingly into his enemy’s face. As he 
did so Smith grinned appreciatively. 

“Why, we have met an old friend to-night, Lieutenant 
Heart. This is Patricio, our Patricio — the official interpre- 
ter of Alcala !” 


X 


A RED TICKET TO ILOILO 



|NE o’clock in the morning, and the forty men 
of the flanking column slipped out of the back 
trail from Ignotan, as soft of foot and silent of 
tongue as the Forty Thieves of Bagdad. The 
rain had stopped, but the trail wound over hills 
of clay, and the marching was no child’s task. 
Had the darkness permitted a close inspection, 
the command would have shown a significant 
lightness of equipment. Every man was on his own sturdy 
legs, from the commander down to the Hospital Corps pri- 
vate at the rear of the line, and carried nothing save rifle, 
canteen, cartridge-belt and first-aid packages. Even “khaki” 
blouses had been left in a pile at Ignotan, and blue flannel 
shirts were open at the throat. Their only haversacks were 
their pockets, crammed with hard-tack and “Army chicken.” 

Heart, at the head, picking his way as by instinct toward 
Calvary barrio, where the command was to turn south for 
its long swing around Concepcion’s position, felt more and 
more at peace with himself as he put the scene of his quar- 
rel with Turenne farther and farther behind him. Although 
showing but little emotion during the episode, his interrup- 
tion of the water-cure and the ensuing words with his sub- 
ordinate had disturbed him greatly. 

“•They all think I am a fool, I suppose,” he ruminated 
bitterly. “I almost feel I am one myself. Why should I 

80 


THE PROMOTION 


81 


try to apply a quixotic, sentimental principle to this abom- 
inable bush-whacking warfare against the pirate blood of 
the human race? As to Turenne, let him go. Hilton will 
be glad to know that I’ve quarreled with him. But, anyway, 
I couldn’t help myself. I must be getting chicken-hearted, 
for when I looked down from that bridge and caught a 
glimpse of that rascal Patricio’s face as they put him under 
the last time I simply couldn’t stand it. Well, avaunt ! 
There’s trouble ahead, and I don’t think that I have forgot- 
ten how to fight.” 

The resentful howling of dogs at half-past three marked 
their arrival at the ruins of Calvary. The moon was sift- 
ing through the breaking clouds, and etched out the desolate 
scene in its black details of charred uprights, fallen, heat- 
shriveled thatches now sodden with the night’s rain, and 
scarred stumps of banana palms making a ragged edge to 
the muddy trail. The inhabitants had quite generally fol- 
lowed the troops into Ignotan the previous afternoon, but a 
group of the bolder spirits had remained, and, aroused by 
the barking of the dogs, gathered spectrally around the 
Lieutenant as he halted his men for a breathing spell. 

Selecting a couple to act as guides he again started on, 
swinging his command into a yet more difficult trail, leading 
in a southerly direction, and, helped by the friendly moon, 
soon left the snarling curs of Calvary out of hearing, wind- 
ing away into the mysterious silver light and ebony shadows 
of a densely grown upland. 

“If we can only cross the Kaytan River and get into posi- 
tion in his rear before the firing begins,” he thought, quick- 
ening his pace and reaching out for a rifle under which one 
of the weaker men was beginning to stumble. “If we only 
can , Concepcion is ours ! Hope Turenne doesn’t precipitate 
the affair. It would be just like him to do it.” 

The next rise brought them the murmur of the Kaytan’s 
shallow water, its music floating gratefully up to them on 


82 


THE PROMOTION 


the freshening night wind. A half-hour later and they wad- 
ed cheerfully across it, and buried themselves again in the 
steep ravines of the Antigue foothills, burrowing steadily 
on into the west. Then, as the moon began to pale with the 
competition of a growing dawn-light behind them, they ex- 
ultingly halted on a spur and breathed heavily, their eager 
eyes fixed on the last stretch of their journey, a “carabao” 
trail meandering from their feet off into the shadowy hill- 
folds to the northeast. Somewhere between them and Ig- 
notan they felt assured grim old Concepcion was lying with 
his men, perhaps stirring about in the gray mists and pre- 
paring for a quick swoop on the barrio, little dreaming of 
the approaching wrath behind him. If that flame conver- 
sation had been interrupted in time all would go well with 
Company I. 

The detachment had scattered out among the scanty 
scrub-pines on the knoll, and, as the light increased, strained 
their eyes toward Ignotan and the dawn. Their position 
was commanding, and they felt sure of seeing the chapel 
tower when the sun arose. Meanwhile, to the young com- 
mander at least, the scenery itself, even though without a 
hint of friend or foe, was not lacking in fascination. The 
night’s march had circled him well up into the lower ranges, 
and the billowing hills below him were already a vast bat- 
tle-ground of greater forces than his own puny men or his 
dark-visaged enemies. The darkness, intrenched on the 
mountains at his back, was being routed by the early glow 
of the coming day in front of him, and the hills seemed 
huge earthworks, with ragged forests for flaunting banners. 
The steaming mists, hanging blanketlike in the ravines, fur- 
nished the smoke of contending batteries. The birds, too, 
added to the militant conception, trilling and chittering as the 
red sun-fingers reached up over the far away horizon line — 
they seemed to be the faint happy bugles of the victorious 
orb of day. And hardly had their heralding become con- 


THE PROMOTION 


33 

tinuous when the glowing disk itself slipped an upper edge 
into view, and all at once the detachment of infantrymen 
found themselves in a blaze of orange light, their high ren- 
dezvous having caught the first rays, while still below them 
stretched for miles the unbroken shadows. 

The Lieutenant raised his glasses, but not at the faintly 
appearing tower of Ignotan, for the singing of the birds and 
the stir of the morning air had in some occult way diverted 
him from the business in hand, and he leveled the double 
tube off toward Iloilo, dreaming of a pair of grey eyes now 
hidden under slumbrous lids beneath the mission roof in 
Jaro. 

Delaney, the obvious, the brave, interrupted his thoughts. 

“You’ll pick it up a little more to the north, Lieutenant. 
The sun ain’t touched it yet, but I can make it out with me 
eye, sir.” 

The officer started. 

“Oh, Ignotan, you mean? Why, yes, it is in sight, isn’t 
it? Get the men ready, Delaney. We ought to hit Concep- 
cion’s camp on that second ridge, not more than a mile 
away. No bugle, please. Pass the word.” 

Sixty seconds, and the hill-crest was bare, while north- 
ward, in the shadowy “carabao” trail, went forty exponents 
of the strenuous life — alert, fight-hungry. A half-mile, and 
the increasing light revealed a more open country ahead, the 
trail leaving the bamboo growth and winding out over a 
comparatively bare ridge, slippery with the dewy pampas 
grass. 

“Halt!” 

The jingling, straining line drew up to its halted head and 
breathed heavily. 

“Now, Delaney, cock your ear eastward. Do you hear 
anything?” Heart’s voice was super-cheerful. 

There was an instant of dying noises among the men, 
then came a second of dead silence, and then — ah, there 


84 the promotion 

could be no mistake about it ! — then came out of the East the 
sharp crack of far-away Mausers, and the reverberating 
bang 1 of Remingtons and Springfields. First a few isolated 
shots, then a trill of them, sounding in the distance for all 
the world like a bunch of discharging firecrackers and penny 
torpedoes. 

The halted men stirred uneasily, bending their heads at 
varying angles to catch the first sound of the grim game 
in which they were soon to take a hand. They were for the 
most part veterans, and the distant firing was a merry tonic 
to them. Their haggard faces lit cheerfully. A half- 
dozen, however, were recruits. Those far-away poppings 
were their introduction to real war, and marked their 
graduation from rookydom into veteran distinction and 
privileges. Only a “powder-diploma” could make them feel 
entirely at ease among their barrack mates. They spat ner- 
vously into the trail, and furtively watched the calm face of 
their officer. He was chewing a twig and smiling as he 
listened, and it reassured them to behold him. 

Out of the East came a longer, a more insistent crackling. 
It cheered Delaney immensely, for he had chased over de- 
lusive trails many a weary mile after the “illustrious” Con- 
cepcion, and had obtained neither shot nor sight for his 
pains. 

“We sure struck it right this time,” he contributed. 
“Must have his whole outfit along, sir.” 

“Sounds that way,” responded Heart, trying hard to keep 
an exultant note from his voice. “We’ll find them at it 
just beyond the ridge. Watch the ‘rookies’ when the firing 
begins. We’ve no reserve ammunition. Nothing is to be 
wasted. We must sweep up everything in the landscape be- 
tween here and Ignotan. Now let’s get into this on the 
double.” 

As if to emphasize his decision a long-sustaned succes- 
sion of Remington and Mauser reports crowded into a heavy 


THE PROMOTION 


85 

volley from over the ridge, and the detachment, spreading 
fan-wise as it leaped ahead into open order, swept over the 
wet grass at an eager double. But even as it did so, it found 
a niche in its mind for amusement, and laughed broadly, ap- 
preciatively, at a luckless sprawl by Kleinstuk. This oc- 
curred at the crown of the ridge, and so it wag with a unani- 
mous grin parting their hard-set faces that the forty flankers 
went over the dip and down into the death-debate before 
them. 

Heart was happy to his very soul of souls. Was there 
anything in the world to equal the joy of handling good 
troops in real action? he asked himself, as the blue blouses 
raced at either side of him. Was there any music in all 
the German scores so stirring as the thud of human feet at 
the double, and the jingle of accoutrements? Did any 
gambler at Monte Carlo ever taste for a single second the 
delicious uncertainty that now was his at the prospect of the 
game of “Who Dies To-day”? Add to this the grasp 
for fame, the possible after-glow of attainment, and who 
would not envy him, a humble line officer of the Fifty-fifth 
Infantry ! 

As the line plunged over the ridge the chess-board had 
come into view, a rolling, grassy plain, with here and there- 
jutting rocks, the town of Ignotan rising beyond it in the 
green of bamboos and palms, and in the foreground the 
skirmish in feverish progress around a clump of low 
buildings which Heart recognized as the sugar “hacienda” 
and mill reported by Delaney the night before. From its 
walls came a succession of sharp, snapping reports. Around 
it flashed a swaying, irregular line of insurgent riflemen. 
Stray bullets now pinged angrily over the heads of the 
flankers, and spent slugs fluttered on the ground as they ran 
on. 

“It’s like — taking — money — from — a baby.” Delaney 
jounced the words out as he ran at Heart’s side. “They 


THE PROMOTION 


86 

— ain’t — seen us — yet. Can — we begin — to play on ’em, 
sir ?” 

The Lieutenant jerked his head in acquiescence, a bugle 
sputtered, “Begin firing !” and an instant later forty demons 



THE CHARGE OF COMPANY I. 


spitting fire rolled into Concepcion’s patriots and things 
were done which no man’s eye might follow and no man’s 
tongue describe. 

Mowed down from the rear by the fire of the un- 
expected detachment, the Visayans turned for a few bloody, 
dogged seconds to argue with rifle and bolo, and then, re- 
leasing their grasp of the desperately defended mill and 
“hacienda,” where Turenne had come to his last cartridges, 
they broke and fled in all directions, throwing away their 
useless rifles, and leaving behind them their leader and 
some fifty others, dead, wounded or prisoner, as the detritus 
of the conflict. 

It was a neat little victory, and the American loss was 
light. Wilson, Howard, and O’Hearne dead and a dozen 
men wounded, four of them seriously enough to worry over. 
These latter were gathered into the shade of the old sugar 
mill and stretched out around the rusty cane crusher, for 
the sun was now blindingly victorious. 

Here, too, gradually drifted the scattered units of the 
two triumphant companies, panting, sweaty, talkative ; some 


THE PROMOTION 


87 

of them bringing in wounded Visayans and reassuring them 
in mongrel Spanish; others, Smith in command of them, 
guarding a nondescript group of prisoners; and still others 
inquiring for missing comrades. A skillful little group, 
under direction of the Hospital Corps detail, were tenderly 
handling the unfortunates inside the mill. Another group 
began hastily to prepare bamboo litters, assisted by neutral 
Visayans from Ignotan and Calvary, who were beginning 
to flock over the field carrying tubes of water to refresh 
the combatants. Turenne and Henry chatted nonchalantly in 
the shade of the “hacienda” wall with a gray-haired, burly 
Visayan, the famous guerilla chieftain, General Jose Con- 
cepcion, now gathered in at last, and stolidly answering 
the polite queries of his captors in monosyllables. 

Out of the upland to the West sounded the last desultory 
shots of the skirmish, Delaney and a handful of privates 
practising on far-away, climbing Visayans, whose light, 
fluttering uniforms showed occasionally in their flight. 

Heart, standing in the sun at some distance from the 
mill, was receiving a report of casualties from his first 
sergeant. 

“For goodness’ sake, Martin,” he said pettishly, “send a 
man over to Delaney and stop that firing. No, go yourself. 
I don’t want those poor devils shot down after they’ve 
thrown away their arms.” 

With a look of surprise Martin sprang away in obedi- 
ence, Heart watching him a moment, and then walking 
slowly toward the shade of the buildings. He felt dull and 
stupid. The excitement of the fight had departed, and, in 
spite of the brilliance of his little victory and the signifi- 
cance of his capture of Concepcion, he felt little elation. 
Two of the dead soldiers were of his own company. Wilson 
he had been especially fond of. His eye, too, noticed the 
dead bodies of the Visayan soldiery flung by the ruth- 
less conflict into awkward, unnatural attitudes over the 


88 


THE PROMOTION 


pampas grass about him. He stopped and bent over a brown 
body at his very feet, clad in the conventional cheap striped 
cotton uniform of the insurgent army. The slender body 
looked pitiably slight, and the heavy Remington at its side 
made it appear even more so. As he glanced in pity at the 
blood-soaked thigh and waved the gathering flies from the 
wound, a convulsive jerk of the body told him of the pres- 
ence of life, and he shouted to nearby Filipinos to help 
him as he carefully bound up the wound with a first-aid 
bandage. A minute more, and the insurrecto was being 
carried into the shade. Heart waited long enough to direct 
that no wounded man be overlooked, and then entered the 
mill to inspect the suffering of his own command. 

For the most part these were able to greet him cheer- 
fully. Macklin, whose arm had been smashed with a slug, 
informed him that all he needed on earth was a good 
Isabella cigar. Casey was frank enough to ask for a drink 
of “tuba.” Kleinstuk, a bullet through his cheek and sev- 
eral teeth missing, made a desperate attempt to grin. But 
Heart knew their agonies of lacerated muscle and splintered 
bone. 

“You’ve done a good morning’s work, men. We’ll start 
you back to Doc Hilton on litters shortly,” he said. “Keep 
a stiff upper lip for a few hours, and you’ll taste fancy 
‘grub’ at the Brigade Hospital. Remember, there’s a detail 
of American women down there who know how to patch 
you up in short order.” 

Smith had followed his superior into the mill. As Heart 
bent over Macklin to examine his bandaged arm, the junior 
officer saw a spreading red stain on the breast of his 
blouse. 

“Why, Lieutenant, you are hit yourself, sir !” he said 
anxiously, seizing his arm. “Look at this spot here on your 
coat.” 

“Oh no, I think not,” said Heart in surprise. I must 


THE PROMOTION 89 

have gotten that blood from the wounded Visayan I was 
bandaging up.” 

“Not a bit av it, sorr,” said Macklin, forgetting his own 
wound, and raising himself from the floor. “It’s spread- 
ing fast. It’s your own blood, sorr. Better lie down an' 
let Bonesy fix ye aisy.” 

More amused than alarmed, Heart allowed himself to 
be lowered by Smith and the hospital steward to a re- 
clining position. But as his body doubled in the process he 
felt a piercing pain in his left side, and with difficulty re- 
pressed a scream of agony. Large drops of sweat stood 
out on his face, and he fell back on the blanket placed for 
him faint and suffering, while eager hands threw open his 
blouse and the shirt beneath, and anxious eyes stared at a 
blood-bubbling gash in the white flesh dangerously near the 
heart. 

“The real thing, Monty?” queried the sufferer. 

A bandage flashed in Smith’s hand as he answered, keep- 
ing the tell-tale anxiety from his voice with an effort. 

“Oh, it’s good for a free ride to Iloilo Hospital, all right, 
sir. You’re in great luck to get that. This bandage make 
you a little easier? Good. Now keep as quiet as possible 
while we rig up a litter for you.” 

“Heavens ! Monty, I’ve got to interview old Concepcion 
and see after the men,” protested the Commander. 

“Concepcion is willing to postpone the interview,” an- 
swered Smith crisply. “We’ll see he gets behind the bars 
of Fort Iloilo without any ‘slip twixt the cup and the lip.’ 
We’ll look after the boys, too. Now, you’re fixed pretty 
well, but for heaven’s sake, Lieutenant (here Smith’s voice 
leaked his fears in spite of himself), “don’t work this 
bandage loose until Hilton can see to you.” 


G 


XI 



THE HERO FINDS A FAIR CONFESSOR 

EART was ruminating as he lay motionless in the 

t f[ rude little room just off the surgical ward of the 
“ijr Brigade Hospital. It was just as Hilton had said, 
1 he thought to himself, there was something 
infinitely reassuring about the hospital at- 
mosphere, an equal mixture though it was 
of chloride of lime, iodoform and carbolic 
acid. Taken together with the spotless 
floors, the jingle of spoons in glasses, and the flutter of uni- 
formed nurses, it suggested the beneficent mysteries of mod- 
ern science wedded to old-fashioned feminine sympathy and 
helpfulness. 

Yes, it was certainly good to be just where he was, for, 
though weeks of suffering and more than one sharp crisis 
had marked his long siege, it had been a period of rare reve- 
lation to his own soul — self-revelation first of all, but no 
less a revelation of the riches of skilled and unskilled kind- 
liness in the hearts of men. Had not Hilton vacillated at 
great cost of convenience and no little personal danger be- 
tween Iloilo and his work at Alcala? One day he would be 
found dosing Company I, the next fanning the flies from 
Heart’s coverlet. Dear old Monty had likewise been de- 
voted, although held more closely to Alcala affairs. In 
fact, the first days of his convalescence were proving a 
continual levee. Every officer of his own or other regi- 

90 


THE PROMOTION 


9 * 

ments in or near Iloilo seemed eager to pay his respects 
to the popular captor of the notorious Concepcion. Turenne, 
it is true, was an exception. But, to offset his non-appear- 
ance, both his junior officer Henry, and Whitney, the cor- 
respondent, came in to congratulate him. Then, too, the 
little General had come not once but thrice, winking cheer- 
fully each time as he left, and saying “Lucky dog” in a way 
which could mean nothing less than a good report sent 
higher up and a prospect of promotion. And then there 
had been the Army nurses, with their tender, flying, skilful 
hands and their potent smiles and their comforting neat- 
ness and home-likeness. The doctors of the Brigade staff, 
from Surgeon-Major Carter, who looked like a German 
specialist, down to little red-haired Acting-Assistant O’Con- 
noll, who resembled a caddy on a golf links put suddenly 
into uniform, had one and all combined their skill and bluff 
kindness on him. Best of all had come the visit of the Rev. 
Davidson Duval, large of body, grave of spirit, gentle of 
speech, bringing his own tribute of genuine solicitude, and 
a hint of Some One Else in his deep gray eyes and his clear 
cut features. 

“And I mustn’t forget the Company,” Heart thought on, 
“Let me see: Macklin is responsible for that bouquet, and 
Delaney for those magazines, and Anton the Queer for that 
New Testament. Strange his mind should have run in that 
direction ! Kleinstuk smuggled me in a chunk of cheese the 
day my life was despaired of, and Martin- spends half his 
pay on mangos and monkey-chicos. Dear old Company I.” 

Truly the hard, suffering weeks which had woefully 
drawn his face and wasted his body had, nevertheless, 
opened up to him a world hitherto undiscovered in the souls 
of those about him. He felt that he could never again be 
cynical or pessimistic regarding his kind. 

Not less certainly had the period of his illness been a 
self-revelation. He had found plenty of time for mental 


THE PROMOTION 


92 

and spiritual inventory, while staring for hours at a stretch 
at the rude white-washed ceiling above him in the quiet of 
his separate ward, and he had conscientiously reviewed 
himself from his childhood in the old Michigan home up 
through his school years, his studies in the Art Institute, his 
essays at fame with his brush in the modest little studio, his 
entrance into the Army, and his career thereafter. Al- 
though naturally averse to introspection, the long days of 
his convalescence meant a close analysis of his life, and 
an attempt in all seriousness to judge of the worthiness of 
the principles, motives, ambitions which had hitherto in- 
spired him. He found it a puzzling and difficult process, 
the more so as he felt himself coming inexorably to an un- 
pleasant and startling conclusion. After making all possi- 
ble allowance for the high ideals which attracted him at 
first, both in Art and in Arms, he faced the unwelcome 
truth that his career on the whole, since coming to maturity, 
had been dictated by a profound selfishness — a selfishness 
more subtle than the ordinary brand, more decently clothed, 
more socially acceptable, yet a pure, unadulterated self- 
seeking nevertheless. If for a few passing hours in his 
passion for Art he had become lost to the desire for per- 
sonal advancement and recognition, he knew that such 
times had been emphatically rare. And in his military life, 
as well, he felt in his soul that, though he had entered the 
service in a burst of generous feeling toward the Cuban 
“reconcentrados,” he had been sadly eaten into by poorer 
motives and lower passions. Could he say that he had al- 
ways served in an austere devotion to Duty, to Country? 
Had he never yielded to personal pride, to hate, to petty 
self-seeking, to jealousy, to indolence, to dissipation? How 
much of his very devotion had sprung from a desire for 
recognition ! True, one sweet, fresh, unselfish element had 
stolen into his life of late and was changing him for the 
better, bringing him back to the best in his past thinking 


THE PROMOTION 


93 

and stimulating him to rise higher. But this was no com- 
fort to him. It was an influence from without, and came to 
him from a life which he knew to be the exact opposite of his 
own motive and practice. 

Such a line of thought led him to sum up the spiritual 
aspects of his life into sentences which often recurred in 
his mental processes. “I cannot in candor allow anything 
better of myself than that at times I have been delivered in 
part from serving my own interests only. Mine has been a 
dark life with bright spots. As a life it has been grossly 
selfish. The welfare of friends, the advancement of Art, 
the honor of the Flag — these have been incidental to my 
career, not fundamental. I must be what old drunken 
Chaplain Tully would call ‘a sinner.’ I suppose he gets his 
definitions from the Bible. I feel tempted to see if a book 
which can diagnose can also suggest a remedy. But if it 
could, how about Tully? Surely he needs a cure badly, and 
knows his Bible thoroughly. Yet he remains a drunkard, 
as selfish in his way as I am in mine. What hope, then, is 
there for me? Perhaps I shall find my riddle answered and 
my life made free from the ever-present, blighting 
shadow of self by the power of that sweet passion whose 
stirrings I feel within me, making me both miserable and 
thrice blessed by turns.” 

But such conclusions always led him to eventual pettish- 
ness, bringing him again and again to the one restless long- 
ing of his weeks of sickness — a hunger to behold again the 
face of Grace Duval. She had not come to see him, and he 
realized that there was no conventional opening for such 
a step on her part. She had met him at noon on a certain 
day six months before, had had a disagreeable conversation 
with him on missions and religion in the afternoon, had 
written him a note that night allowing of no answer, and 
had doubtless by this time forgotten the entire encounter. 
How could she know that her eyes, her voice, a few sen- 


THE PROMOTION 


94 

tences of her simple philosophy, had changed his life and 
held his imagination so in thrall that merely to think of her 
face, her figure, her intonations, caused his heart to beat 
more quickly and his sunken cheek to flush? Why should 
she come in from Jaro and her work just to smile upon his 
sick-bed ? 

It must have been at least the one-thousandth time that 
he had come to this mournful conclusion when a miracle 
happened to him as real as any he had ever been taught in 
his Sunday-school days. The door of his room opened, and 
a white-clad figure stood uncertainly upon the threshold. 

The doorway was not in sight from where he was lying, 
for his bed faced the one window, and he was still too stiff 
from bandages to turn easily. He heard the door open, 
however, and a strange trembling seized him at the sound 
of a light step. He somehow knew that it was not the usual 
nurse. 

“This is the missionary, Miss Duval,” chanted the voice 
of his past five months’ dreaming. “May I come in ?” 

Heart’s tongue clicked in a suddenly parched mouth. It 
was a marvel that he could marshal even the most conven- 
tional response. 

“Certainly. Most kind of you to come,” he said nervous- 
ly, afraid that he was building the baseless fabric of a dream 
as he saw her step cheerily across the room, draw a chair 
near the foot of his cot, and' daintily seat herself, regarding 
him with unmistakable eyes of pity. 

“My brother suggested that I might be of some possible 
service to you, Lieutenant. However, I knew the nurses 
here needed no help from inexperienced me. I really came 
to thank you for your splendid act of mercy toward our old 
deacon, Domingo. You doubtless know how we all rejoiced, 
but I felt that I had the right to come myself and thank 
you.” 


THE PROMOTION 95 

“It was only justice,” the young officer said faintly, his 
intense eyes devouring her face. 

“No, I insist it was mercy,” she smiled. “And when we 
think that we are, indirectly at least, the cause of your long 
suffering here, it makes us all eager to assure you that we 
are not ungrateful. The prayers of our simple peasant 
membership have not failed to include your name through 
all your illness.” 

“Thank you, Miss Duval,” responded Heart, flushing. * 
“Old Domingo quite won my heart. To have his prayers is 
a high honor. I certainly need prayer, or something else 
more potent than my own unaided strength of mind and 
will.” 

She looked at him quite gravely. “It is splendid of you so 
frankly to say so,” she said at last. 

“Not at all. I’m just selfish enough to want deliverance 
from myself. It will be six months to-morrow since I so 
signally failed in courtesy to you at Alcala. Now don’t 
expostulate. My conscience has burned me for my boorish- 
ness ever since. Well, it was doubtless easy for you to 
place me religiously at that time. To-day, thank God, I am 
different. I am not a Christian, Miss Duval, but I am at 
least a man convinced of the need of a higher, a better, a 
less material life. I have ‘passed myself in review’ and find 
the parade a failure. I am going to admit that it was my 
encounter with you at Alcala which started me seriously to 
thinking of the responsibility of an altruistic, an unselfish 
life. I have even tried to live such a life since I last saw 
you. But my trying only proved to me, what no doubt both 
you and your brother knew at a glance long ago, namely, 
the fact that I was what preachers call ‘a sinner’ and what 
I myself call a thoroughly selfish man. Now, having start- 
ed me off religiously, I’m going to ask you a further favor. 
You are a Christian woman, Miss Duval. Can Christianity 


THE PROMOTION 


96 

give me deliverance from the littleness, the pettiness, the 
shame of selfish living?” 

The young missionary hesitated an instant before an- 
swering. 

“I know the philosophers have a great deal to say about 
the inevitableness of selfish living, but I cannot feel as they 
do,” she said slowly. “I’m afraid that my best answer to 
your question must come from my own life.” 

“If you would only condescend,” he said wistfully. 

“Simply this, then, Lieutenant Heart. A few years ago 
I passed through an experience doubtless similar to the one 
you are now having — I mean mentally. I had lived the 
usual life of a ‘society girl/ as my little city defined it, and 
when I sought deliverance from its narrowness, its dull sel- 
fishness, I found peace only in consecration to the Master. 
Since knowing him, and endeavoring to do his will in my 
own life and the circle of my influence, I have found a most 
real deliverance from my old slavery to self. Non-Chris- 
tians would doubtless explain it all psychologically, but I 
cannot make it less than a visitation of God’s grace. To 
think of my old dissatisfied existence and my new, abound- 
ing gladness in his seryice makes me wish that all might 
share the same rich blessings I am privileged to enjoy.” 

He looked at her earnestly. 

“I presume, then,” he resumed after a moment of quiet, 
“I presume that you have all confidence in the Bible? You 
know, Anton, one of my rrifen, sent me up one the other day. 
I’ve even been reading it a little.” 

“Yes, to the Christian the Bible is infinitely precious. 
Not for its own sake, however. As I understand it, sir, 
things are not true because they are in the Bible, but things 
are in the Bible because they first were true. Thus the 
Bible has proven the gateway of life eternal to men. It has 
preserved to us the knowledge of our Lord.” 

“Don’t think me brutal, Miss Duval, if I say that I can 


THE PROMOTION 


9 7 

no longer accept the Bible as my dear mother so firmly did, 
and as you yourself seem to do. I’m not well informed on 
the matter, but isn’t it true that the new historical criticism 
has brought the Bible into the realm of legend and litera- 
ture, or at least corrupted history? You see Jonah and the 
Whale, the Serpent in the Garden, and the Plagues of Egypt, 
and all that kind of thing, are pretty hard for a practical 
mind to relish.” 

He had spoken somewhat anxiously, not willing to offend. 
She surprised him by a transitory but undeniable look of 
amusement. 

“I think we all have our epoch of doubt, usually during 
our university course,” she admitted candidly. “ But that 
meant in my own case that I merely dropped many old, 
vague opinions, and found in their place a few rock-firm 
convictions which have been as landmarks to my mental life 
ever since. The inspiration of God’s Word has been no 
debatable matter with me of late. I know it to be inspired 
of him because it inspires me to seek the right, the heavenly 
things. Of course I don’t worship the Bible. It asks no 
worship. It only asks a hearing for its wondrous message.” 

“And what do you consider its message to be ?” 

“Its message to me is simply Righteousness,” she said, 
sweetly serious. “It is just full of both the word and the 
theme. In Genesis we see the need of it in the Fall, and 
then comes the definition of it in the Law. Then the his- 
torical books are really a struggle in an ancient nation be- 
tween righteousness and unrighteousness. The Psalms and 
other poetical books are, it seems to me, a great soul-cry 
for righteousness. The prophets are all exponents of it. 
In the New Testament our Lord seems to make the 
standard of righteousness even more exacting in his great 
Sermon on the Mount, and then he exemplifies it perfectly 
in his life.” 

“His life was truly wonderful,” said the listener. 


9 8 


THE PROMOTION 


“Then, to go on, in the Acts of the Apostles we see in 
some mysterious way righteousness imparted to weak, nar- 
row, self-seeking men, and they go out to proclaim it to the 
world, astonishing their age by the purity of their changed 
lives. The Epistles ” 

“Stop just a moment there, Miss Duval,” interrupted 
the officer with a light in his eyes which startled her. “That 
part about the righteousness being imparted to selfish men 
: — that must be my part of the message. Would to God 
that such transactions might take place to-day! If the 
Christ of whom we read in the Gospels were only taking 
disciples to-day, I verily believe I would join myself to 
him. I need transforming badly enough.” 

“Such changes take place in every hour of time, Lieu- 
tenant,” she said eagerly. “I ventured to refer to myself— 
my own new life. Domingo is but another evidence. I 
have seen it so often! The power of the Saviour is still 
with us to deliver some from drink, and some from doubt, 
and some from insidious selfishness and pride. Oh, that 
you would put him to the test! For, after all, it isn’t a 
question of believing creeds, or even the Bible. The Bible 
is simply the sign-board pointing to the Saviour. All its 
prophets point forward to him, all its apostles point back- 
ward to him. I beg of you, do not quarrel with what 
you may think are defects in the sign-board, but heed, in- 
stead, its directions. Go to the Saviour to whom it directs 
you!” 

She was speaking with great feeling, but suddenly 
checked herself and arose, extending her fresh, firm hand 

“Forgive this long conversation,” she said remorsefully. 
“I am sure that it has been bad for you to endure so long 
a sermon. Ten minutes, you know, is your limit at 
present.” 

“Bad for me?” he queried, holding her hand in his long 
white fingers. “It has been an angel’s visitation ! I can- 


THE PROMOTION 


99 

not ask you to remain longer, but there is one thing which 
I do wish to request of you. It will doubtless sound strange 
to you, but I desire your prayers. I confess I don’t believe 
much in others’ prayers and not at all in my own. But I 
believe in yours, Miss Duval, and would appreciate the 
kindness.” 

Disengaging her hand, she stood for a moment at the 
bed-side looking down at him with a look of great joy 
on her face. 

“My prayers will not fail to ask your life for the service 
of the Master,” she said. 

“Then would it be too hard to begin right here and 
now ?” he asked timidly, the request amazing even his own 
ears. 

A flush of embarrassment crossed her face, but she mur- 
mured an almost inaudible “Certainly, if you so desire,” 
and kneeling at the cot’s side with the simplicity of a child 
at its mother’s knee, she clasped her hands, closed her 
eyes and softly, self-forgettingly, prayed while the young 
officer listened in reverent quietness: 

“O blessed Saviour of men,” she breathed, “thou who 
didst create all things by the word of thy power, create 
anew this hungry soul that crieth out for a better, a higher 
life. Deliver him from himself by so revealing thy beauty, 
thy glory to him that he shall be compelled to a whole- 
hearted abandonment to thy service. Teach him the reality 
of thy loving presence. Open to him the grandeur of thy 
will for him, and the splendor of thy great enterprises up- 
on earth. And in him, and in me, and in all of us, may 
thy kingdom come and thy will be done, on earth as it is 
in heaven. Amen.” 


lofc. 


XII 



THE HERO BECOMES A “GOSPEL SHARP 

WO weeks later, on a Saturday evening, Heart 
was sitting tete-a-tete with Dr. Duval in the 
“sala” of the little mission house on Calle 
Concepcion, a little languid still, but well on 
his way to complete health again. He was 
telling the missionary that he was to start for 
Alcala on Tuesday morning. 

“I go back to duty,” he said gravely, “a well 
man in a dual sense.” 

“Praise God that you can speak so confidently,” returned 
the host. “It has been a great joy to both of us here — your 
decision. You have been wonderfully led.” 

“It seems very wonderful to me, Dr. Duval. And yet 
it would have been more marvelous had your sister’s prayer 
for me remained unanswered. In my after arguments with 
you, you will remember how slow my progress apparently 
was, how much a mental and how little an emotional one. 
Yet, sir, I must admit that it was not so much your answer- 
ing of my various philosophical difficulties so completely nor 
your bringing to bear upon me the batteries of Christian 
evidence — unsuspectedly powerful though they were — which 
decided me for Christ’s service, so much as the memory of 
that little prayer and the feeling that somehow God and the 
Truth were on the side of that petition. But now that I 

ioo 


THE PROMOTION 


IOI 


have found the Saviour I can use the language you read me 
from the fourth of John this evening. ‘Now I believe, not 
because of the speaking of the woman, for I have heard 
him myself, and know that this is indeed the Saviour of the 
world !’ ” 

The strong face of the older man lit with unwonted em 
thusiasm. 

“And yet,” he cried, “there are those who speak of our 
Redeemer as though he were a dead Syrian teacher of eth- 
ics — he who ever liveth to transform lives and teach them 
the secret you are just learning! How true is the word, 
‘Except a man be born anew he cannot see the kingdom of 
God.’ Sin has blinded the soul to its Christ. Our phil- 
osophies are godless because, as Cowper has said, 

‘Faults in the life breed errors in the brain. 

And these reciprocally those again.’ 

Oh, the tragedy of human transgression ! Would God I 
might be more endued with heavenly grace to aid in leading 
my fellow-men to the manhood awaiting them in Christ !” 

“One man at least knows the power of your witness,” 
broke in the officer. “I wrote mother to-day and told her 
of my decision for the Christian life. You know she used 
even to dream of my becoming a minister some day, and her 
heart will be full of gratitude to both you and your sister. 
Well, Doctor, you are doubtless busy with your preparation 
for to-morrow’s services. I am going to leave now, but 
have promised myself the privilege of looking in at your 
service to-morrow in Jaro. I must see old Domingo again, 
and you have promised me some Filipino singing to Ameri- 
can melodies.” 

“Come by all means. The second service is at seven 
o’clock, and your presence will please everyone. The mis- 
sion house in Jaro is just at the entrance to the market- 
place.” The missionary arose and followed his guest to the 


102 


THE PROMOTION 


door. “Is this your ‘carromatta’ waiting here? You must 
not tax your strength by walking too much.” 

The officer went down the steps, awakened his “cochero,” 
entered his rig and reached out for a parting grip of the 
missionary’s hand. A moment later he was rattling off to 
his quarters at the Officers’ Club, looking wistfully back at 
the upper windows of the mission-house, where a light hint- 
ed the presence of Grace. He had not seen her since the 
day of her prayer. She had on the following day sent her 
brother to him, and his religious crisis had come to him and 
had been bravely and sanely met with the help of that sym- 
pathetic, large-hearted, cultured man, his doubts met with 
the overwhelming facts of historical and experimental 
Christian evidence. He had come gradually to a place 
where the decision for the Christian life became absolutely 
necessary, if he were to retain his singleness of heart and 
act in accordance with the light received. Moving forward 
in the compelling inspiration of this reflection, he came re- 
joicingly to know Christianity as a personal relationship to 
a Redeemer rather than an acceptance of creeds or an at- 
tempted practice of maxims. This secret revealed to him, 
he had entered into a peace, a gladness, a deliverance from 
self, which had transformed all things to him. Old things 
had indeed passed away, and all things become new. He 
felt eager at once to apply to practical life the energy of his 
new devotion and the wisdom of his new point of view. 

Only a few days after his religious crisis had been met in 
victory he was allowed to leave the hospital, and had taken 
advantage of the few days remaining to him at Iloilo to call 
at the mission-house on Calle Concepcion, where Miss Du- 
val and her brother made their home, although their public 
work was largely at Jaro, a quaint little town three miles to 
the north. Twice, in fact, he had called, hungry of heart to 
see Grace. But she had on both occasions been in Jaro, and 


THE PROMOTION IO3 

to-night, not finding her in the “sala” with her brother, he 
had not had the courage to ask for her. 

“Never mind,” he said to himself hopefully, “to-morrow 
is Sunday. In the morning I’m going to Tully’s service. 
But in the evening I shall surely see her in Jaro.” 

His driver soon drew him up at the Club, and, ignoring 
the inviting group of fellow-officers in its buffet, he passed 
up to his room and slept as soundly as a lover might. 

At nine in the morning, in accordance with his resolution, 
he arrayed himself in a freshly laundered uniform and hunt- 
ed up the official religious service of Iloilo, in the band-room 
of the barracks. Here he surprised by his presence a de- 
pressingly thin attendance of worshipers, mainly privates 
and “non-coms” from the two companies of infantry, the 
band and the light battery, which constituted the garrison 
of the post. A civilian employe in white and one other 
officer beside himself constituted the only exceptions. The 
officer, he noted, was no less a person than General Mercer 
Hugelet himself. 

As he entered the rudely seated room Chaplain Tully 
was announcing the first hymn and a soldier was officiating 
at a small “folding organ.” As he took his seat the Chaplain 
looked up from his hymn-book, and, seeing him, raised his 
eye-brows in surprise. 

“Religion must be at a low ebb in Iloilo when the Chap- 
lain is so shocked at a new listener’s appearance.” 

With this reflection he used his fine voice heartily in the 
hymns, and listened earnestly to a perfunctory “sermonette” 
by the Chaplain, trying hard as he did so to forget the well- 
known moral delinquencies of the speaker, whose genuine 
largeness of heart was offset by an increasing tendency to- 
ward alcoholism. “Old Pelican,” Smith frequently called 
him, with some little reason for the analogy. 

The text was, “Endure hardness as a good soldier of Je- 
sus Christ,” and the Chaplain soon found himself able to 


THE PROMOTION 


104 

climb into a patriotic peroration and end with some glitter- 
ing sentences of cheap oratory. He then stopped and pre- 
pared to announce the last hymn. As he did so, controlled 
by some power outside of himself apparently, Heart rose in 
his place and caught the leader’s eye. Hearing the slight 
noise of that act the audience turned in their chairs and 
looked at the young officer in amazement. 

“If the Chaplain will kindly permit,” said Heart quietly, 
but conscious of a thumping heart, “I should like to say a 
sentence or two before the service terminates.” 

“Why, certainly, brother, certainly,” said Tully as the 
Lieutenant paused. “Anything that you may have in mind, 
sir.” 

“It will take but a moment. I came over here this morn- 
ing to let you know that I have recently decided to become, 
in the imagery of our text this morning, a soldier of Jesus 
Christ. In the service of our country it is essential that we 
assume a uniform and let all know of our allegiance. I feel 
that it is even more emphatically necessary in this spiritual 
conflict which rages in and around us. I have accepted the 
will of Christ as my life hereafter. I want you all to know 
of it. And if I can ever help any man here or elsewhere to 
the same decision it will be a great privilege to me. That 
is all, I think, Chaplain. Thank you for the opportunity.” 

Heart sat down amid absolute silence. The Chaplain 
cleared his throat. 

“I, too, have a word more to say,” he said, nervously re- 
moving his spectacles, and looking with unusual directness 
toward his auditors. “And it is a little hard for me to say 
it. What our noble young brother, Lieutenant Heart, has 
just said has been an arrow in my soul. Yes, I, a chaplain 
in the United States Army for twenty-two years, stand 
convicted this morning in my own conscience of being an 
unworthy servant of Jesus Christ. And I want to be just 
as brave as my brother here, and say that I intend by the 


THE PROMOTION 


105 

grace of God to be a better one from this day forward.” 

The tears were now rolling down the old veteran’s 
cheeks, and his voice failed him from emotion. General 
Hugelet half rose as if to stop the humiliating confession of 
his long-time friend, but sank back into his seat as the 
Chaplain continued in a broken voice : 

“I know, my brothers, I know what the whole regiment, 
yes, the whole brigade, says about me, that I am an old hyp- 
ocrite who preaches to others, but can’t keep sober myself. 
And of late I haven’t preached much because I felt it wasn’t 
honest to do it. I haven’t any excuse for myself, and I don’t 
want my friends to make any for me. It is true that I have 
helped some of the men in little ways. I’ve helped them to 
save their money. I’ve helped them to get their full ra- 
tions, I’ve counseled them, visited them in hospital and bur- 
ied some of them in the little cemetery. But men ! I’ve been 
faithless in the great matter of living Christ before you. 
May God forgive me for my sin. Why, the other day I was 
unpacking a box from home, and what do you think they had 
sent me ? My dead father’s old saddle-bags ! He was a 
circuit rider of the Methodist Church in the old pioneer 
days, and he lived like a saint and went up to meet his God 
with a prayer for me on his lips. I just looked at those old sad- 
dle-bags of his and I couldn’t keep back the tears. And 
when Lieutenant Heart spoke just now it made me feel like 
crying out and saying, ‘O God, make me the man my father 
was ! make me the man even that I used to be ! De- 
liver me, O Lord, from drink and indolence, for Jesus’ sake/ 
Well, I’ve confessed to you. I had to do it. God’s Spirit 
is in this room to-day. I must have peace and deliverance, 
and I want you all to pray for your old Chaplain. Let us 
arise and be dismissed.” 

With unusual constraint of manner the little audience 
broke up, deep seriousness upon most of the faces. Several 
went forward silently to take their Chaplain’s hand, Heart 

H 


THE PROMOTION 


106 

among them. The old man was still agitated. He grasped 
the young disciple’s hand nervously but warmly, and with a 
look of genuine gladness. 

“God bless you, Chaplain,” said Heart steadily, “you’ve 
inspired us all this morning.” 

“God bless you , my lad,” said the older man, putting his 
arm impulsively on Heart’s shoulder. “The step you have 
just taken is a noble one. Be more faithful to your God 
than I have been. I feel a little sad to-day when I think of 
all I might have been had I remained true to the old gos- 
pel. Come over to my quarters and take lunch with me. I 
want to talk over a lot of things with you. And I want you 
to go down to the old fort with me this afternoon. Now, 
don’t refuse me. I need you to-day, Lieutenant.” 

Heart laughingly acquiesced. To become a “gospel sharp” 
in a single day was rather of a change for him, but he be- 
gan to relish it. Before starting out with the Chaplain, 
however, he glanced toward General Hugelet’s bench, but it 
was empty, the Brigadier having evidently left with the de- 
parting men. 

At three o’clock, in company with Tully, he rode out over 
the sandy promontory to the ancient stone-work known as 
Fort Iloilo, whose bastions served the Department of the 
Visayas as a military prison. The heat was intense at the 
gate and in the airless courtyard, and they were glad when 
the sergeant in command escorted them into the large, cool 
room where some thirty men were spending their Sunday 
lounging about inside the gratings. They were for the most 
part “bob-tailed,” i.e., discharged from the service in dis- 
honor, because of misdemeanor and crimes. During the 
week they were used to break stone on the streets of Iloilo. 
Heart had never visited the place before, and his heart was 
saddened by the sight of the hopeless men before him. In 
addition to a dishonorable discharge, which carried with it 
disfranchisement in civil life, some had been sentenced to a 


THE PROMOTION 


107 

term of years in the Government Penitentiary at Fort Leav- 
enworth, Kansas. They were being held in Iloilo only until 
transportation could be secured for them. “Bino,” the 
deadly native drink, had been the ruin of the majority, their 
crimes running the gamut from theft to brutal murder, be- 
ing mainly traceable to its influence. Only one or two 
showed really criminal faces, and Heart saw with pity the 
extreme youth of several. 

“Poor lads,” he thought. “Doubtless most of them en- 
listed with some alluring thought of foreign travels, of 
serving their flag, of becoming a hero and returning tri- 
umphantly up Market street at ’Frisco or Second avenue at 
Seattle, cheered by the thousands and buried beneath roses. 
But instead of being met with the honest pride of parents 
and the shy rejoicing love of a sweetheart, they will land on 
the Pacific coast in chains, be hurried across the face of the 
land they love in disgrace, and be hidden behind the 
masonry of Leavenworth prison. Meanwhile, they can 
break stone in the local chain gang, the butt of the Filipinos. 
Sin may be sweet at first ; it is bitter at the last.” 

As the two officers entered, the more surly of the dis- 
charged men had remained lounging on the floor or list- 
lessly stood. Several, however, sprang to their feet and 
saluted. 

“Men,” said the Chaplain, “I’ve been neglecting you fel- 
lows a good deal of late. I’ve come down here to-day to 
find out whether I can be of help to any of you. Now the 
Sergeant has granted me the privilege of seeing those of 
you who may desire to talk with me privately in his office. 
I’ll be here for an hour or so, and if I can execute any 
little commission for you, I want you to feel free to use me. 
Some of you are discharged from the service, but I want to 
act as your chaplain still if you’ll let me.” 

Several of the men came up and took his outstretched 


io8 


THE PROMOTION 


hand. Some one called out of a group back in the gun-port, 
“Thanks, Chaplain, you’re all right.” 

“No, I’m not. I’m not much of a Christian. But I want 
to help you if I can,” he responded. Then drawing Heart 
with him, he withdrew into the adjoining office of the ser- 
geant in command, and as one by one the wretched men 
sifted in to him and told him their little stories, Heart 
listened with an interest never before so strongly felt in the 
tragedies and problems of his fellows. 

One or two asked the Chaplain to get them tobacco or 
another blanket. Others wanted him to use his influence to 
secure them another trial. One stalwart man wept bitterly 
as he told of his downfall. Another protested his innocence. 
Others simply told their story, hopeless of any repeal, but 
glad to find some one to whom they could unburden. He 
noted down their little commissions, promised them read- 
ing matter, tobacco and stationery, and encouraged them 
to hope on. In two instances he knelt down with his arm 
around the man and prayed with him. 

In an hour and a half he was through. Two-thirds of the 
men had been to him. 

“You’ve done them a lot of good, sir,” said Heart. “Now 
if you will wait a few moments for me, I wish to see a 
young Filipino prisoner in here before we return to quar- 
ters.” 

“I’ve these notes to rewrite. The sergeant will take you 
in to see him. And then come back for me and we will take 
the same ‘quilez’ back to town.” The Chaplain’s face was 
a face of peace. 

Leaving Tully at the desk busily writing, Heart, escorted 
by the sergeant, went out across the hot, blistering court- 
yard, and after a moment of delay at heavily barred doors, 
found himself in a room similar to the one he had just left, 
but in this case crowded with a quota of captured Visayan 
insurgents. Many of them were sleeping through their 


THE PROMOTION IO9 

“siesta.” Others were sitting on their cots, and smoking. 
These arose politely and bowed at his entrance. 

The sergeant spoke in Spanish. 

“Where is Patricio Delgado?” 

“Here, senor,” responded a grave voice, and out of the 
tobacco haze hanging in the farther end of the room came 
the erstwhile interpreter of Alcala. 

“This is your man, Lieutenant Heart.” 

“Yes, thank you, Sergeant. Now you may retire. I will 
rattle the door when I’m through.” 

Taking the hint, the sergeant saluted and withdrew, lock- 
ing the door behind him. 

Heart looked his former interpreter in the eye. 

“Patricio, step over here a little apart from your com- 
patriots. Pve called on you to-day merely as a friend, and 
not as a judge or prosecutor,” and he led the inscrutable 
Visayan to a vacant corner where a locker furnished a rude 
seat for them. 

“A cigarillo, cavalier ?” proferred the prisoner, coolly, ex- 
tending a fully rolled one in his hand. 

“Many thanks, but not just now, Patricio. I have an 
item of good news for you. Hear it first. As you under- 
stand well, your attempt to signal my disposition of forces 
to Concepcion that night at Ignotan made you technically 
a spy and subject to the most severe sentence of a martial 
court. Is it not so?” 

“Si, senor, the fortunes of war have placed me in a pre- 
carious position, but my heart is strong within me. Your 
George Washington was no more a patriot than we of the 
Philippine Republic. Your Nathan Hale, of whom I have 
read, has the honor of furnishing me a precedent. Is it 
not so ?” 

The Visayan spoke for the moment without his usual 
courtesy of tone, and his last sentence was a veritable chal- 
lenge. 


no 


THE PROMOTION 


Heart looked keenly at him a moment and then said : 

“Patricio — Senor Delgado — I believe you to be honestly 
devoted to Philippine Independence. All the months you 
were at Alcala I knew you were there simply because of the 
opportunity it gave you to inform the insurgents of our 
forces, our habits, our plans. And, listen, I honored you for 
it. Not that I liked your pretense at friendship, but I ad- 
mired your constancy. You and your leaders are terribly 
mistaken in fighting us. Some day you will acknowledge 
it. Meanwhile, why not fight us fairly? For my part I 
don’t want so good an interpreter or so strenuous a patriot 
hung as a spy. I have some little influence at headquarters, 
and have used it. Your sentence has been lightened to a 
year’s imprisonment.” 

For a moment the Visayan sat silently smoking. Sudden- 
ly he threw his cigarette to the ground. 

“Cavalier !” he cried, “the North Americans clasp their 
hands when they are moved at heart. Permit me. Patricio 
Delgado is at last coming to believe that not all Americans 
are perfidious. I knew not at the time of your rescue of 
me from torture at Ignotan. I have been informed of your 
humanity since. My blood and convictions compel me to 
be openly your enemy. Privately, I shall admire you, and 
my friendship will not die until I myself pass away:” 

His air was a trifle grandiose, but Heart believed him to 
be sincere. Rising with the Visayan he clasped his hand 
warmly, and, fearful that the ex-interpreter might proceed 
to embrace him ‘a la espagnole,’ he said his adieux hastily, 
after submitting to an introduction to several of the im- 
prisoned officers present — they all seemed to hold high 
commissions ! — and rattling the bars as a signal to the ser- 
geant, was soon out of the cell, and in company with the 
Chaplain riding back to Iloilo. 



SALAK-DA-KO AND THE JOLO SEA 

WAS Monday afternoon, and Heart was the 
I happiest man in the Army of the Philip- 
pines. In company with Miss Duval and old 
Domingo, he was seated in a “prao,” and 
was beating across the cobalt waters of 
Iloilo Strait, headed for the quaint fishing 
village of Salak-da-ko, just opposite the port of Iloilo. As 
the boat careened out of the river mouth, and tacked its 
way free of the point, he reviewed in an ecstacy the chain 
of events which had throned him in gladness supernal. 

At seven o’clock the previous evening he had driven out 
to Jaro, and had crowded his way into the Visayan audience 
at the Baptist chapel. He had heard with pleased wonder 
the singing of Visayan words to familiar old English church 
tunes. He had listened with warm interest to the addresses, 
one in Spanish by Dr. Duval, and one in Visayan by Do- 
mingo, the colporter. For a second time he had been fairly 
shaken by the rude force of the old man’s natural oratory. 
After Domingo’s homily, he had himself been escorted to 
the platform, and said a few words of good-will and Chris- 
tian fellowship, which were received by vigorous hand 
clapping, much to his discomfiture. It was all a very infor- 
mal service, but of great interest to him in all its details. 
He noted with surprise the apparent eagerness of the 
crowded audience to hear the Protestant gospel. 


1 12 


THE PROMOTION 


But his real joy had been in the presence of Grace, seated 
amid a bevy of Filipino girls near the platform of the chapel, 
her sweet voice ringing clearly in the hymns, her face 
turned up to him in unashamed gladness as he gave his tes- 
timony for the Master. 

By a singularly happy accident, Dr. Duval’s “cochero” 
failed to appear at the chapel at the close of the service, 
and when our hero had offered a share in his own vehicle, 
it had been most gratefully accepted. Crowded cosily into 
the “quilez,” and rattling away over the stones toward Ilo- 
ilo, it had not been hard for the Lieutenant to refer to his 
nearing departure on Tuesday, and suggest that he be al- 
lowed to take the missionaries for a sail to Salak-da-ko on 
the morrow. It developed that they had never been on the 
healthful little resort-island of Guimaras, and after a mo- 
ment of hesitation as they thought of the great pressure of 
their work, they found themselves able to accept the invi- 
tation with pleasure. 

Another happy dispensation of providence had compelled 
Dr. Duval to fail them at the rendezvous on the Iloilo docks. 
An urgent call had come to attend a sick man at the dis- 
pensary, and he had sent Domingo down as a substitute and 
escort for Miss Grace. 

With a feeling of great hypocrisy Heart had expressed 
his regret at the occurrence to Miss Duval, and had helped 
her into the staunchest little “prao” which the water-front 
afforded, Domingo squatting at the helm, and the owner of 
the boat, a Tagalog, balanced on the outrigger to windward. 

Given the woman you love at your side, a glorious after- 
noon, a bird-like boat, and a palmy shore for an objective, 
and the heart of man is bound to sing. The young officer, 
worn though he was with his long illness, felt himself strong 
with a tonic not of the breeze or the sea, and looked down 
upon 'the fair woman who had won his love with an exulta- 
tion of heart which only knew the single fear that she might 


THE PROMOTION 


IJ 3 

not be willing to return to him the richness of the passion 
which burned in his soul. “But God is not so cruel !” he 
thought instinctively. “Having led me as he has these past 
few months, what shall I fear? Shall I not, knowing the 
purity of my heart and the strength of my love, move con- 
fidently on to win her?” 

When the fresher winds smote them, a mile or two from 
shore, and flashed silver handfuls of the salty water over 
the bamboo rail, they both became children with delight. 
The sudden spring of the quickened boat pleased them im- 
mensely, and when the owner announced a “two-man 
breeze,” and Heart went balancing out on the outrigger to 
his assistance, their happiness was of the shouting order. 

Their fourth tack brought them into the shelter of the 
limestone head near Salak, and then came to Heart the 
pleasure of locking fingers with old Domingo and carrying 
Grace unceremoniously across the shallows to the gravelly 
shore, where the simple fisher-folk crowded about the two 
in respectful curiosity. Once ashore, the afternoon went 
all too swiftly for both — to Grace because of the real beau- 
ties of the paths, the villages, the cliffs; to Heart, because 
of the delighted and grateful girl at his side. Had he known 
that this was her first real holiday away from the wear of 
the mission work for over six months, he would have ap- 
preciated even more than he did her little exclamations of 
interest, her side-darts into the village shops, and her sud- 
den stops at vantage points on the cliff-trail. 

At six o’clock they put off for the return trip in a world 
of sunset fires, flaming in a cloudless sky and reflected in an 
absolutely windless sea. Their glorified brown sail hung 
languidly to the mast, and the Tagalog and Domingo pad- 
died rhythmically away from the beach, hoping for a favor- 
ing breath when the headland should be turned. 

They were, however, disappointed, and Heart was made 
inwardly cheerful by the utter absence of even a capful of 


THE PROMOTION 


114 

wind, and they settled down to a machine-like stroke which 
meant a progress certain but slow, and Iloilo dock not be- 
fore nine o’clock. 

With surprising forethought for his sex, Heart had pro- 
vided for this emergency, and now opened up a charming 
little napkin-covered lunch basket, the contents of which the 
two cheerfully spread out in the waist of the boat upon a 
board laid across the thwarts. 

“Hong Kong, my China-boy, came down from Alcala on 
Saturday,” he explained, as she looked at him in mock 
amazement. “He’s studied the exacting tastes of an old 
bachelor so long that I ventured to bring this sample of his 
art with me. Hope you’ll endorse him heartily. It may be 
half-past eight or nine before we get into the dock.” 

“He must be a jewel !” she said, putting the napkin into 
place, and daintily arranging the sandwiches and chicken. 
“I confess to a most unromantic hunger.” 

With sly artifice Heart prolonged the little meal, enjoying 
the sight of a woman’s table-ministry for the first time in 
many months. Then, satisfied themselves, he became even 
more artful, and called both Domingo and the Tagalog from 
their paddles to share in the remains, while his fair guest 
laved her hands over the side in the rosy water. 

When the two were started back to their work the Taga- 
log paused a moment to affix a fragment of paper to the 
mast to charm a wind to his assistance, eliciting a short 
laugh from Domingo, who had glanced at the sky to the 
southward, and pointed out a swiftly scudding cloud reach- 
ing up over the slowly receding shore of Guimaras. 

“No need for your charm, ‘maestro,’ the God of heaven 
had already made up his mind,” he said calmly in Visayan. 

The four sat eyeing the rising clouds. The sun, although 
itself out of sight over the rim of the Jolo Sea, was still 
glorifying the whole range of their vision. The Antigue 
Mountains to the northwest were islands of royal purple, 


THE PROMOTION 


115 

the street and harbor lights of Iloilo, three miles ahead, were 
winking in white scintillations against a background of in- 
digo hills and uplands. All else was ablaze with opalescent 
fires. 

“Oh, the moon ! Isn’t it a marvel of delicate beauty this 
evening !” cried Grace, clasping her hands in excitement 
as a calm, silver edge appeared over the palmy sky line of 
Guimaras and showed white and unfearing beneath the 
arch of the coming clouds, which suddenly seemed to thick- 
en and blacken as they reached out in streaming fingers 
amongst the newly appearing evening stars. 

Domingo had been squatting, paddle across his knees, a 
statue of mahogany in the stem of the “prao” steadily re- 
garding the face of the open sea. 

He suddenly pointed out into its shimmering lights. 

“Big wind !” he said in English, turning to the Lieuten- 
ant, and then dipping his paddle deeply into the water at his 
side. 

Far off on the horizon to the southwest the uncertain line 
between sky and sea had suddenly become clearly marked. 
A darkening, broadening line appeared, weaving and twist- 
ing over the surface of the water. A warm, moist puff of 
air struck against their faces as they watched, a breath 
which fluttered an instant, and then almost immediately be- 
came a steady breeze. 

Impelled by a nameless dread, Heart, who had had ex- 
perience in the simoons of the Jolo Sea, looked about for a 
paddle with which to aid the now furiously active Tagalog 
and Visayan. There were but the two paddles, and motion- 
ing to Domingo to take the helm, he took the old man’s pad- 
dle, and put his full energy into his stroke. A glance back 
at Guimaras showed them to be almost midway of the 
Strait. The coming storm would make it impossible to re- 
turn to Salak-da-ko. There was but one thing to do — try 
by dint of paddles and the simoon’s earlier gusts to 


n6 


THE PROMOTION 


reach the shelter of Fort Iloilo before the crisis came. 

The “prao” was already moving at a good pace, its mat- 
ting sail slowly distending. But the rising hope in the Lieu- 
tenant’s heart died within him as the black clouds suddenly 
reached across the dying embers of the western sky and 
quenched them into the blackness of a tropic night. 

As though to celebrate its victory over the light, the si- 
moon belched forth a sudden furious gale of wind, fairly 
lifting the lightly constructed boat out of the water, and 
tearing the immense sail out of its tackle and away across 
the now foaming waters. The outriggers alone saved the 
boat from being capsized. 

Instantly reduced to helplessness, with the boat utterly 
beyond their control and driving rapidly past the harbor 
lights in a bedlam of tempestuous noises, Heart relinquished 
his paddle and sprang to Grace’s side. She had remained 
seated in the stern of the boat, clinging to a hempen stay, 
her face showing as calm as though in the mission room in 
Calle Concepcion. 

“Too bad !” he shouted in her ear. “We’ll have to stop 
paddling until this blows over. It’s going to pour pretty 
soon. Let me put this rain-coat over you. 

She said something in return that the wind carried away 
from him, but she obediently removed her hat and placed it 
under the seat and allowed him to wrap the flapping coat 
about her. It required not a little persistence successfully 
to fight the wind in the task, and he was filled with great ex- 
ultation as he stood in the swaying boat and buttoned the 
coat closely under her chin. The dim light revealed her 
unafraid face and her blowing hair. 

As they resumed their seats the rain began, a blinding 
sleet of warm water cutting horizontally across the waves 
at them, and shutting out for a few minutes even the alert 
figure of Domingo, still at the helm, and the prostrate Tag- 
alog laid out on the deck ahead. All alone in a world of 


THE PROMOTION 


n 7 

raging waters and stinging rain, the two sat side by side, 
Grace clinging to the rope, and Heart venturing to put his 
arm at her back and grasp the rail beyond her. Her wet 
hair, blown free from its fastenings, was against his face, 
and his soul was singing like a petrel in a storm. As the 
liquid blackness wrapped more closely about them and they 
only knew of each other by the sense of touch, the utmost 
wrath of the simoon seemed to him but a beneficent dispen- 
sation. The loudest screech out of the China Sea was but 
a cheerful zephyr so long as it sounded upon them in each 
other’s company. What cared he, even though threatened 
with an awful transition into eternity, if he could but go to 
meet his Redeemer in company with this radiant life at his 
side ! 

Suddenly they were conscious of the wind changing. The 
“prao” danced about in the boiling sea and raced back 
upon its track, shipping bucketfuls of water at every frantic 
leap, and shivering through every slender timber. And then 
occurred a miracle of good cheer — the rain abated and the 
moon broke an edge through the blackness of the clouds, 
tearing them into alternating black and white streamers, 
and sending a lance of soft light over the weaving, troubled 
waters. 

Domingo suddenly gave an exclamation. “Cavalier, there 
is no shore !” 

It was true. As far as the dim light permitted them to 
see, there was no sign of either Panay or Guimaras lights, 
only an apparently limitless flashing of threatening white- 
caps, stretching away on every side into a wind-filled 
blackness. The simoon and the treacherous currents of the 
Strait had conspired to carry them out into the great Jolo 
Sea. 



XIV 


A GARRISON OF TWO 



OUTHWEST they drove before the wind for a 
good three hours or more, the “prao” twisted 
and strained, but still loyal to its four pas- 
sengers, and, though half filled with water, 
buoyantly meeting the breaking swells of the 
abating storm. Although the water of the Jolo Sea was 
comparatively warm, Heart longed for the sake of his now 
weary and water-soaked companion for the breaking of the 
clouds. At about midnight he was rewarded, a cluster of 
stars marshaling about a now unclouded moon, and the 
wind dying down to an ordinary breeze. An hour later 
brought the sound of the surf pounding on some not far dis- 
tant shore, and deflecting their course by energetic pad- 
dling, they soon made out a moon-lit sand-spit dead ahead. 
The combers were crashing over on to it, but Heart knew 
that the lightness of the “prao” made a landing a simple 
matter. With an infinity of hard work at the paddles they 
held themselves back until able to ride into the foam on the 
back of a princely surge, which shot them far up the glis- 
tening slant of the beach, and, though the back-wash tugged 
at them with an awful grip, Domingo and the officer stag- 
gered safely beyond its froth with Grace held high above 
their heads. The Tagalog, too, came safely in, gripping 
the sand with his fingers as he fell exhausted, fearing that 
he might be caught up bodily and thrown back into the 

118 


THE PROMOTION 


119 

boiling sea. The brave little “prao” went slowly to pieces 
as each successive comber pounded remorselessly over it. 

During the last hours of the thrilling ride Grace had hard- 
ly spoken, leaning more and more heavily against the Lieu- 
tenant’s arm, straightening herself at times, and then relax- 
ing again as if utterly weary. Putting her gently down 
high up under the curve of a sheltering bank, the officer and 
the colporter worked away on the problem of a fire. 

Matches, dry and numerous, were in the Lieutenant’s 
match-box, but to find a piece of ignitable wood was an ex- 
asperating task. A full hour was spent bv the two in the 
hardest of labor before a stalwart flame flared up above 
a steaming mass of gathered drift, and the drying out pro- 
cess began. 

Leaving Grace to bask in its grateful warmth, her wet 
shoes smoking as she held them one after the other toward 
the blaze, the three men went up the beach fifty yards and 
fell to work upon a primitive shelter for her. Huge leaves, 
hastily thatched with twigs, soon arose on bamboo props. 
More bamboos were laid as a floor, and more leaves piled 
upon them as a bed. The morning lights were beginning to 
turn the velvet blackness of the eastern sky into a dull, uncer- 
tain gray before they had their task completed. With pride 
they put on the finishing touches, built a roaring fire just 
before its door, and stood an instant in critical survey. With 
the cocoanut palms waving over it — their huge fronds stand- 
ing mysteriously out in the sudden light of the fire — the lit- 
tle house looked to Heart like an illustration from Robin- 
son Crusoe’s Adventures , and he hastened away to the sleepy 
little figure wrapped in his raincoat and seated at the dying 
embers of the first fire. 

“Rest for the weary !” he cried gaily, although stiff and 
weak from his night’s adventure. “Gome with me down 
the beach, and into the romance of the past.” 


120 


THE PROMOTION 


Smiling in return, she arose and went with him to the 
shelter, and when she saw the inviting little miniature 
house, the growth of a brief two hours, she clapped her 
hands in applause. 

He prepared to leave her for needed rest. 

“Now we are going to roast ourselves at the other fire for 



“The brave little ‘prao’ went slowly to pieces.” 

fire in an hour or so notice in it a resemblance to either 
Domingo or myself, and do not be alarmed. You have been 
a very brave woman all through the strain of this experi- 
ence, Miss Duval. Please dry yourself out thoroughly and 
make yourself as comfortable as you can. We rescued your 
shawl and dried it out. You’ll find it on your bed. Good- 
by, and may God grant you a long sleep ! When I re- 
turn to build up your fire I must be able to think of you as 
fast asleep and dreaming of your safe return to Iloilo by 
and by.” 

His last words had been almost tremulous with gentle- 
ness. Her firm, sweet face, looking up at him so trustfully 
in the light of the burning drift-wood, made it hard for him 
not to kneel at her feet and tell her all his heart. He turned 
abruptly away. 


THE PROMOTION 121 

“Just a moment, Lieutenant,” she called softly after him. 
“Your raincoat— you must take it now. I’m entirely dry, 
you know, and the fire will keep me quite cosy. And— and I 
know you must be suffering after all you’ve gone through. 
I should never forgive myself if all this exertion for me 
opens up your old wound again.” 

With her face full of anxiety for him she had deftly re- 
moved his coat and held it out pleadingly toward him. 

“Miss Duval,” he said sternly, “do you wish to rob me of 
a chance to do you a slight service? Why, all you have is 
that poor thin shawl, and you are shivering this moment.” 

In the end he prevailed, and went down the beach exult- 
ingly, leaving her to dry out the brown masses of her hair 
at the fire. Three-quarters of an hour later he came tiptoe- 
ing back, and stood guard outside her door, an alert sentry 
and a faithful fireman during her slumbers. Once her ex- 
cited nerves refusing to allow her to sleep restfully, she had 
Opened her eyes and seen him sitting quietly at the fire, his 
khaki uniform still wrinkled and damp, his hat gone, his 
black hair thrown carelessly back from his earnest eyes, his 
thoughtful young face staring at the embers, and his slender 
fingers resting lightly on his revolver butt. With a sudden 
leaping of warm gratitude within her, she had closed her 
eye-lids to slumber in happy safety well into the earlier 
hours of the forenoon. 

She awakened cramped and stiff, but with her strength 
renewed. A half-dozen cocoanut gourds filled with fresh 
water were at the shelter’s entrance, and a bamboo stick 
with a fragment of paper pinched into its split end aroused 
her curiosity. Reaching out cautiously for it she opened the 
note and read with amusement: 

“Breakfast now ready in the dining-car ahead. Fish !” 

The sea, bright in the sun, was still thundering a hundred 
feet away in majestic loneliness, not a sign of sail or distant 
i 


1 22 


THE PROMOTION 


shore showing over its still troubled surface. A single gull 
wheeled and dived in the breakers, the only sign of life. 
But, glancing shyly up the beach, she saw that both Do- 
mingo and the Lieutenant were within hailing distance, the 
first busy over the wreck of the “prao,” now left high up on 
the beach by the receding tide, and the second bending over 
his fire. Finishing her toilet with some pains, she went 
cheerfully to them. 

“Fish !” she cried merrily, after greetings. 

“It’s no joke,” laughed the officer, proudly exhibiting a 
cunningly built oven of stones in which reposed a neatly 
baked “cicerone.” “Domingo is a genuine successor of Pe- 
trus the Fisherman. He had rigged up tackle and landed a 
mess of these right out of the surf before the sun had awak- 
ened your humble servant.” 

“I suppose you have all breakfasted then, long ago,” she 
said ruefully. 

“We couldn’t wait.” 

Heart prevaricated cheerfully, not caring to inform her 
that the only fish caught had been reserved for her, and 
that he and his two companions had fed upon a strictly ba- 
nana menu. He had prepared a rude wooden trencher for 
her, and, seating her upon a cocoanut log, he served her 
ceremoniously to the finest part of the hot “cicerone.” 

“No salt, and I’m sure you’ll ignore the coffee,” he sug- 
gested. 

“I never drink it,” she affirmed, smiling. “Isn’t this fish 
good ! And cooked just to a missionary’s taste.” 

The fish certainly was appetizing, and both the Lieuten- 
ant and Domingo forgot their own unsatisfactory breakfast 
as they watched her appreciative feasting, and urged her on 
to the last scrap of it. 

Between Heart’s trips from the oven to her log she was 
briefly apprised of their situation. They had been thrown 


THE PROMOTION 


123 

upon a small island off the west coast of Panay, and, so far 
as their brief trips up and down the beach informed them, 
it was uninhabited. The Tagalog had gone on an exploring 
tour of the beach to the south, and would bring them a re- 
port by noon. Bananas and cocoanuts promised them ex- 
emption from starvation, and the two men were both confi- 
dent of their ability to get back to Panay within thirty-six 
hours at most. 

“From what remains of the wreck of the ‘prao’ we are 
constructing a smaller boat, and, when we have it fitted with 
a thatched sail and the wind shifts a few points, either Do- 
mingo or myself will beat our way over in it to Panay (it 
will not hold more than one), and bring over relief for the 
rest of us. From the rise back of us here we can make out 
the tips of the Antigue Mountains, and can locate the very 
break in the range directly above San Jose de Buena Vista 
harbor, where the Navy keeps a gun-boat of the ‘mosquito 
fleet.’ They will come over for us as fast as steam can carry 
them.” 

His fair listener gave careful heed to his every word. 

“Can’t we possibly go together ?” she asked. 

“It would necessitate the construction of a large boat, and 
hold us here several days.” 

“Every moment is precious to me for brother’s sake,” she 
said slowly. “Yet it seems a great risk for a man to attempt 
to make the journey alone over that treacherous sea.” 

“Don’t call the good old Jolo Sea hard names,” he laughed. 
“It has given me the adventure of my career. If only we 
get you safely back to Iloilo in good health and courage, I 
shall be tempted to make an offering to Neptune. Now en- 
courage Domingo as he patches up a float, and I will go out 
on a relief expedition for that Tagalog. It may be possible 
that there is a fishing village and suitable boats on the op- 
posite side of the island. If you get lonesome, climb up the 


THE PROMOTION 


124 

hillock at your back and look over at the Antigue range. 
But keep in sight of Domingo.” 

“I should like to join the exploring party,” she suggested 
daringly. 

“Not this time, Lady Franklin,” he returned in real re- 
gret. “I’m going to circuit the island, if possible.” 

She watched him as long as he was in sight, striding fear- 
lessly along the sun-lit sands at the edge of the breakers. 
In spite of the dual ordeal of hospital and storm he was as 4 
erect as a young pine of the Cascades. Not until a curve 
of the shore hid him did she give heed to the faithful old 
Visayan chieftain as he busily worked over the wreckage of 
the “prao.” With deft hands the old man was splicing and 
twisting bamboo ropes — the strongest in the world — and cut- 
ting away the ruined outriggers. She even found herself 
able to assist him a little, in spite of his vigorous expostu- 
lation. 

As for the officer, his rapid stride carried him fatefully on 
to a gruesome sight. An hour’s journey from the camp he 
rounded a projecting point well around on the southern 
shore of the little isla, and came abruptly upon the dead 
body of the Tagalog, his head split open by a bolo, and the 
signs of a furious struggle in the dry sand about the body. 
The man’s brains were bulging from the riven skull, and a 
more sickening sight could hardly have been imagined. A 
single glance assured the startled soldier that no firearms 
had been used in the murder, and he repressed his first in- 
stinct, which had been to dodge beneath the bank, fearful 
of a volley from ambush. Flashing a keen glance at the 
palms nearest him, he again bent over the body of the vic- 
tim. It was as he had thought; the man’s pockets had been 
rifled, and even his “scapula” had been cut from his neck. 
The tracks of at least two men other than the Tagalog could 
be made out in the sand. He needed no other items. 

“A ladrone island,” he thought, with a quiver of appre- 


THE PROMOTION 


125 

hension. The Tagalog boatman had apparently been re- 
turning with the results of his scout when two natives had 
intercepted him from the dense growth along the shore — 
he could see their tracks leading out from the palms to the 
body and back again to the grove. The sand also informed 
him that the three had stood talking an instant before the 
foul act had been committed. The stolen “scapula” was 
infallible evidence that the mysterious two were not ortho- 
dox Visayans. Possibly they were Moros from Mindanao, 
more probably reckless ladrones who cared naught for the 
ban of Holy Church. 

To get back to Grace was Heart’s instant resolve, and, 
revolver in hand, he ran in the very edge of the thundering 
surf back around the curving shore toward the camp. After 
an apparent eternity he came in sight of the two safely at 
work on the boat. 

He slowed to a walk as he saw her glance up. 

“Back so soon ?” her sweet voice asked brightly. “Behold 
the primitive boat-builders at their labor.” 

“Well done !” he praised fervently, noting with relief the 
progress of the work. The mass of wrecked bamboo now 
revealed a creditably patched hull of perhaps half the length 
of the original boat, with a miniature sail of thatch and an 
outrigger of the rudest construction. The cunning hands of 
old “Si Gugma” had worked a good two-thirds of a miracle. 

“The voting members of the colony will now hold a cau- 
cus,” he said, jesting to hide his evil knowledge from her. 
“The women can continue at their work as usual on Elec- 
tion Day.” 

She frowned in mock anger as he took Domingo aside and 
rapidly informed him of the tragedy. 

The old man became much excited and urged in broken 
Spanish that they all attempt to escape together. He knew 
ladrones, he said, and knew them to be men with bowels of 
iron and hearts of rock. Even though without firearms, 


126 


THE PROMOTION 


they would not be long deterred from an attack by the Lieu- 
tenant’s single revolver. Heart, however, insisted on the 
original plan. The death of the Tagalog, instead of fright- 
ening him, had acted upon him as danger always did, mak- 
ing him confident and at ease. No time was to be lost, he 
urged. Domingo must sail within a couple of hours at far- 
thest. The boat could not possibly keep more than one 
afloat. The wind was veering into the west, and was becom- 
ing more and more favorable. By nightfall he should be oft* 
the coast of Panay, and every important coast town was 
garrisoned by the Forty-fourth Infantry, while the gunboat 
Pronto was lying at San Jose, with dare-devil Nick Adams 
in command of her. As to Miss Grace, he and his “Colt’s 
45” would be responsible for her. It was not at all probable 
that the ladrones had as yet even seen them. 

The old man looked long and searchingly at the Lieuten- 
ant out of his gnarled old face as the officer talked, and at 
length gave a grudging assent. Although the quickest way 
out of their dangerous position, it was apparent that he 
dreaded the leaving of his beloved teacher and mistress un- 
der the threat of a lurking foe. 

But Heart prevailed at last, and, after a feverish hour and 
a half of united work on the boat, he and Grace sat in the 
shade of a curving bank and watched Domingo’s venture- 
some start for San Jose. He knelt in prayer with them on 
the beach before launching out, and, with a few old gourds 
filled with fresh cocoanut milk, and a bunch of bananas for 
food, he bobbed off over the now quieting sea, bravely wav- 
ing his battered hat as long as he remained in sight. 


IN THE LAIR OF THE LADRONES 



T MUST have been four in the after- 
noon — the Lieutenant’s watch had been 
stopped by the sea water — when they 
confessed to each other that their friend 
was no longer visible. 

“Now for a brief exploration/’ he 
said. “We will take the shore to the 


north this time.” 

“How peculiar that the owner of the ‘prao’ has not yet re- 
turned,” she commented as she arose cheerfully to comply. 
“Doesn’t that argue that he has found a village or a boat?” 

“I fear not. He may simply have abandoned us, thinking 
that he could rig up a raft or float, and shift for himself. 
He was an utter stranger to me, of course, until I hired him 
yesterday noon at the docks.” 

Gathering up the water gourds, the rude fishing tackle 
left them by Domingo, and her shawl with the raincoat, 
Heart led the way northward up the beach, putting behind, 
farther and farther, the boatman’s mutilated body. As he 
walked he took pains to keep between his companion and 
the heavy growth above the strip of sand. No sudden 
spring of a ladrone band would find him unprepared. So 
eager was he to make progress that he made it most diffi- 
cult for her to keep up with him. An exclamation of cha- 

127 


128 


THE PROMOTION 


grin at her own weariness brought him suddenly to a slower 
step and a remorseful apology. 

“In a few minutes more we will have circled the north 
end, and should obtain a glimpse of the western beach,” he 
added. “If there is any settlement on the island it should 
then be visible. I wish to warn you, however, that the dis- 
covery of inhabitants may but add to our difficulties. There 
is more than a possibility that we are in one of the outlaw 
nests of the Jolo Sea.” 

She turned a grave face toward him. With all her devo- 
tion to the Filipino people, she knew that the ferocity of 
some of the ladrone bands was akin to that of the American 
Indians. 

A sudden break in the foliage ahead arrested his atten- 
tion. Passing cautiously on, they soon came to the limit of 
the palms, which had lined the shore in an unbroken line 
all the way from camp. Peering through a screen of ferns, 
they saw not only an open field, partly overgrown but still 
plainly giving evidence of having been cleared by the hand 
of man, but in addition the stone walls of a considerable 
building rising in its center, and facing toward the open 
sea. 

“Evidently an abandoned mission of the ‘fraylies’,” said 
Grace, expressing the thought of both of them. 

“And if abandoned, an ideal resort for outlaws,” supple- 
mented the Lieutenant softly. “We can’t afford to take 
risks, but I should heartily like to give you a good tile roof 
over your head to-night.” 

With the utmost caution the two came out on the clear- 
ing, taking advantage of what shrubbery and trees had en- 
croached upon it. In a few moments they were standing 
silently below the grey old entrance to the “convento.” Re- 
assured by its ruined appearance, the Lieutenant, after an 
instant of hesitation, passed in under the arch, the doors 
creaking back upon their reluctant hinges. With his re- 


THE PROMOTION 


129 

volver at the ready, and followed by the brave girl at his 
back, he softly ascended the stone steps leading to the floor 
above. A second door, heavy and forbidding, barred his 
way at the head of the “escalada,” but with the thought of 
providing a suitable shelter for Grace impelling him, he 
pushed boldly against it, felt it give, and sprang into the 
large upper room of the “convento.” As he did so a swift 
glance showed it to be utterly devoid of living occupants, 
but most interesting nevertheless. Even Grace, entering be- 
hind him, gave a cry of mingled apprehension and admira- 
tion. 

The entire upper floor of the building appeared to be sim- 
ply a large and imposing hall. At its opposite end was a 
huge fire-place, above which hung a collection of rifles, bo- 
loes and sword-bayonets, arranged in a martial wall design. 
Between the windows on either side were similar groupings 
of war material. Several rusty carbines were leaning in a 
corner to the right of the hearth, while at the opposite end 
of the room were piled cases of ammunition and tinned 
commissary supplies. A huge mahogany-topped table and a 
set of carefully carved Spanish chairs divided the floor 
space with a dozen Filipino bed-frames, arranged against 
the side walls. 

Shutting the heavy door through which they had entered, 
and sliding a huge bolt into place in its socket, the Lieuten- 
ant returned his revolver to its holster, drew a sigh of re- 
lief, and stepped over to the windows on the sea-front. As 
he had hoped, the western beach of the isla was visible from 
this point of vantage, and an innocent-looking little village 
nestled in a gleaming bend of the shore perhaps a mile away. 
He noticed with satisfaction the utter absence of boats. Not 
a single sail darkened the sea, and not a single hull was 
drawn up on the sand before the village. He stepped back 
from the window and made a sweeping bow to Grace, who 
was looking in wonder about her. 


THE PROMOTION 


130 

“At your disposition, senorita. This is your roof for the 
night.” 

“But surely there is great risk in remaining here,” she 
exclaimed. “We seem to be in a nest of outlaws. I recog- 
nize some of their insignia.” 

“We are in most wonderful luck,” he responded. “The 
ladrone village is a mile below us, and in plain view of 
yonder window. There isn’t a break in the view of the 
beach, and not a single boat is drawn up on it. We have 
struck their headquarters while the rascals are off on Pa- 
nay or elsewhere on a raid.” 

“But the village must surely be inhabited.” 

“Doubtless. The old men and the women and children 
probably live there throughout the year. I can’t account for 
the unguarded condition of this rendezvous on any other 
hypothesis than that the fighters are practically all absent. 
They will hardly return before Nick comes with the Pronto , 
and you may promise yourself a dreamless sleep in ‘the 
ogre’s cave.’ Now make yourself the mistress of everything 
you see, while I scout the premises below. First, however, 
I will take the liberty of opening out a box of tinned goods. 
I happen to know this brand. The rascally Englishman 
who runs that grocery on Calle Real in Iloilo has fortunate- 
ly been holding communication with our enemies.” 

By the time night fell the Lieutenant had repaired the 
lower doors sufficiently to shut the huge arched entrance to 
any wanderer from the village, or even a returning ladrone. 
He then carried a heavy bed frame down stairs, and pre- 
pared himself a sleeping-place directly across the inside of 
the door. It blocked the only means of getting to the floor 
above. But before retiring for the night he had the pleasure 
of sipping a hot broth prepared by the young missionary 
over a fire on the hearth. He had not dared to build up a 
good fire, fearful that the villagers might notice its reflection 
from the “convento” windows. But she had done wonders 


THE PROMOTION 


131 

over it with a can of tomatoes and some hard-tack. Coffee, 
with condensed milk to lighten it, followed the broth, and 
he looked at her in re-inforced admiration. 

Following the meal Heart at first vacillated from the 
hearth to the seaward windows, hoping that, in case of a 
return of the ladrone flotilla, or even of the two mysterious 
murderers of the Tagalog, he might be vouchsafed an ade- 
quate warning. Eventually, as the night without became in- 
tense with shadows, he settled himself in a chair near the 
one she had chosen at the glowing embers, and busied him- 
self in examining sundry of the dilapidated pistols and car- 
bines of the place, doctoring one or two carefully with a 
bottle of oil which he had discovered above the mantel-shelf. 
From time to time he furtively watched the beautiful face 
beside him as she sat looking pensively into the fire. 

There was no pathetic droop to the lines of her mouth, 
and her eyes were steady and tearless, though sad. She had 
succeeded in carefully confining her hair again, and her 
simple dress seemed to him to be wonderfully restored by 
some occult means. But he knew the travail of her mind 
and the anxieties she felt, not so much for herself as for 
the distracted brother across the Jolo Sea. 

It was an overwhelming feeling of tenderness for her 
which undid him. Impelled by it he said : 

“You were wonderfully brave last night.” 

“The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many 
waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea,” she quoted 
simply. 

“Yes, I knew it to be your faith in Christ’s care which 
kept you so calm in that awful first breath of the simoon.” 

He paused, a tumult of thought arising. 

Again she preferred another’s words to her own. 

“I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond His love and care,” 


THE PROMOTION 


132 

she repeated softly with such a light in her eyes that his 
whole soul was moved within him. 

There was a long silence. Outside, the sea was pounding 
the beach in the growing light of the moon, and its cool 
breath stirred through the embrasures of the old building. 
Whatever was the mixture of impressions which hurried 
him on to his ruin he never could afterward remember. It 
might have been the rhythmic sound of the waves without, 
the stir of the night air through the dimly lighted room, the 
intoxication of a moonbeam playing an instant in his fair 
companion’s hair, or her sweet, pensive face alone, which 
decided his susceptible mind. But after all it matters but 
little. The great step was taken, and its mistake was never 
to be rectified. He had suddenly seized her hand in his, and 
was kneeling at her chair pouring out a confession of his 
love. 

There is a mighty eloquence in a pure heart of devotion, 
and possibly for an instant, as her dear hand trembled in 
hi*s, and her startled eyes tried bravely to meet his upraised 
face, he had his battle nearly won. But the thought of the 
utter untimeliness of his suit blotted out the appeal of his 
glowing face, and hardened her in a flash. 

Withdrawing her hand she arose, and stood silently in the 
now gloomy room. Compelled to follow suit he had also 
risen and awaited her reply, while everything became a 
dizzy red before his eyes. 

Her voice, suddenly grown hard and bitter, struck him a 
savage stab. 

“So this is what your sudden conversion means !” 

Her little figure was drawn rigidly up, yet he was looking 
down upon her as she struck again. 

“I wondered at the sudden change in a notoriously cruel 
and carousing Army officer, but I rebuked myself for sus- 
pecting you. Would to heaven I had been more worldly- 
wise. I had dreamed that your inspiration was a pure devo- 


THE PROMOTION I33 

tion to the Master of men. It appears to have been a differ- 
ent motive which actuated you !” 

Almost unable to credit himself with having heard aright, 
he had stood in silent intensity, his face as white as when 
they had carried him into the Brigade Hospital after Ig- 
notan. 

“A Christian ! No, not even a gentleman, to speak to me 
here as you have while we were in this situation ! How 
know I but that this whole wretched adventure is your plan- 
ning? You flatter yourself that you are saving me from 
the ladrones. Sir, I prefer their company to yours ! To 
wait until Domingo is gone, to rid yourself in some way of 
the boatman, to place me here where I am utterly dependent 
upon you, and then with all this leverage press your pre- 
tended sentiment upon me ! I should have known that no 
intimate of Lieutenant Turenne’s could be so weak as to 
consider a mere woman’s helplessness.” 

He stood back against the mantel. His head had fallen, 
and his soul had turned to stone. 

In womanish changeableness she cried out at him : 

“Why don’t you speak, sir? When will you unbar that 
door and escort me to the village?” 

He raised his eyes and looked at her quietly. For a mo- 
ment he could not speak. His throat was parched. The 
words came at last in the voice of another man: 

“I have already spoken, Miss Duval. I have told you 
that I love you with all the strength of my heart. You are 
right about the untimeliness of the confession, however. But 
I beseech you to remain here until relief arrives. The Tag- 
alog I found butchered on the south beach this morning.” 

“It is hard to believe you,” she said hopelessly. “I prefer 
to go — ” 

“You cannot trust me?” he said dully. “Then let me put 
this on another ground. You do not credit me with being 
sincerely a Christian man, nor even a gentleman. But you 


THE PROMOTION 


*34 

are an Army girl. You know there is an honor of the Ser- 
vice. It is as a soldier, then, and not either as a friend or a 
Christian brother that I ask the privilege of guarding you 
until help arrives.” 

For a moment she hesitated. The fire-light played an in- 
stant across his white face and reflected from the gold em- 
blem on his collar. 

‘‘You have broken my heart, sir, with disappointment 
concerning you. But so be it; I will remain. I can trust — 
the Army.” 

She watched him, her mind in a chaos of mingled emo- 
tions, as he left the mantel and stepped to the corner of the 
room. Selecting a revolver from the heap he had been as- 
sorting, he laid it on the edge of the table nearest her. Then, 
saluting gravely but with eyes downcast, he turned and 
strode to the upper door, examined his own revolver an in- 
stant and mechanically felt around the row of cartridges in 
his belt. Then, drawing back the bolt, he swung open the 
door and prepared to descend to his bed below in the ruined 
vestibule. 

“There is a bolt on your side of this door,” he said quietly, 
and disappeared from her sight. 


XVI 



THE GENERAL TURNS CZAR FOR THE SAKE OF THE SERVICE 

r\ OWN in the ruined vestibule, seated upon his ' 
couch, with his back against the doors, and 
rf his arms tightly folded, Heart fought and 
won the greatest battle of his Army career. 
It was as though all the devils of hell leered 
* through the darkness into his white, set face, 

and mockingly iterated and re-iterated, “So this is what 
your pretended conversion means !” And by the force of 
an iron will he marshaled a hundred times his whirling, 
racking mental powers, and hurled them in a stern negation 
at his adversaries. But it was no easy task. The tempta- 
tion was almost irresistible to curse, to renounce his relig- 
ious vows, to allow his rejection by the woman above to 
harden him into a betrayal of his Christ. He clutched his 
fingers deep into his khaki jacket, clenched his teeth, and 
straightened every muscle in his body, while the damp sweat 
oozed out upon his face. 

It was far past midnight when victory came to him, and he 
knew himself unalterably true to the New Life. Chilled, 
weary in mind, and suddenly conscious of an utter exhaus- 
tion of body, he shifted his revolver holster to the front and 
stretched limply out upon the bed. 

But as he endeavored to lose himself in sleep, he became 
aware of a peculiar throbbing in the left breast. Raising 

135 


THE PROMOTION 


I36 

himself to a sitting position he hastily unbottoned his blouse 
and flannel shirt, and, thrusting in his hand, felt, as he had 
feared, the warm blood of his re-opened wound. 

It was as he sat for an instant startled and wondering 
how he should succeed in bandaging himself without assist- 
ance, that the heavy doors suddenly vibrated with the force 
of a resounding blow. 

A born soldier, Heart was master of himself and the situ- 
ation in an instant. 

“Open ! Open !” shouted an impatient voice in Spanish. 

“Who comes?” he challenged in the same tongue. “An- 
swer, or your life is forfeited !” 

There was a sound of shuffling feet without, then a second 
of silence, and then a voice harsh and wrathful. 

“Son of a dog! Who dares to challenge Juarez? Unbar, 
or you will be slit into fish bait !” 

“Easy, easy, Captain. I am a ‘Christiano,’ and do not love 
blood-shed. But you must wait till morning for entrance 
here. Let us be wise and council by sunlight.” 

A shrill laugh of derision came through the door, and a 
dozen oaths from as many throats. Heart stepped aside to 
the shelter of a stone buttress, expecting that the firing 
would begin. But a second silence ensued without, and a 
new voice in quiet and even tones addressed him. 

“Senor, you are a brave man. But you are one against 
many. While we were away to-day you were carefully 
watched by our women and old men. You and the ‘Ameri- 
cana’ are known to be alone. We are soldiers of honor. 
Trust to our generosity rather than arouse our passions by 
resistance.” 

“Being soldiers, you will understand that I cannot open to 
you without orders from my superior,” responded Heart 
coolly. “Withdraw from the door, or we shall be compelled 
to open fire on you.” 

The answer to this challenge was a quick succession of 


THE PROMOTION 


137 

stunning reports. The band outside had placed their rifles 
against the rudely barricaded door and hastily discharged 
them. Almost simultaneously came the crash of their unit- 
ed weight against the barrier, and for an instant it looked as 
though the wooden beam in the half-decayed sockets would 
splinter before them. But, with his head still ringing with 
the concussion of their guns, the Lieutenant had poked his 
revolver through the yawning crack between the giving 
doors, and with a twist of his wrist emptied its five cham- 1 
bers at as many different angles. 

With a medley of staccato curses the attacking party 
sprang away from the deadly muzzle, and allowed the doors 
to groan back into position. An instant later, and they be- 
gan a desultory fire on the entrance, but from the sound of 
their rifles the Lieutenant knew them to be at some distance 
from the “convento.” 

Breaking open his cylinder, he rapidly reloaded it, and 
smiled grimly as their bullets splintered through the wood- 
work and flattened against the back wall of the vestibule. 
The imminent danger of a spinning fragment of lead ending 
his life did not even occur to him. Nor did he remember 
the now steadily flowing wound in his breast. To hold the 
entrance till Nick Adams came with his gunboat was the 
uppermost thought, and the only one that his tired brain 
seemed capable of producing. 

Ten minutes of firing “at will,” and the door was hardly 
more than a sieve. Though surrounded by intense darkness, 
the officer could catch glimpses of the moonlight outside sift- 
ing through the now splintered panels of the barrier. Ap- 
plying his eye to one of these jagged holes during a suspi- ; 
cious lull in the firing, he made out a body of men not twenty 
paces away stealthily advancing with a palm-log to batter 
down his defense. As he prepared to fire on the leaders, the 
door at the top of the stairs at his back suddenly opened, 
and, turning at the noise, he saw the figure of Grace lean- 
K 


THE PROMOTION 


138 

ing toward him, and apparently endeavoring to pierce with 
her eyes the cloud of powder smoke billowing up the stairs 
from the vestibule. One hand was resting on the door she 
had just opened, the other held a revolver. 

The upper room of the “Convento” seemed flooded with a 
brilliant light behind her. 

She shouted down to him, but he did not hear her. His 
head was dizzy. 

“Put out that light!” he cried. “You will draw their fire.” 

As he spoke the battering-ram came smashing into the 
doors with a deafening shock, and the nature of the light 
above came to him like an elixir of life. 

“IPs the searchlight from the gunboat,” he called up 
hoarsely. “Signal with your revolver from the windows !” 

But she called again. This time he understood. 

“Come up here, Lieutenant. Quickly ! This door is 
stronger.” 

“Obey !” he returned almost angrily. “Signal at once,” 
and wheeling from her, he turned his speaking revolver on 
the now savagely attacking enemy. The light behind him 
suddenly went out, and the vestibule became a reverberat- 
ing hell of smoky blackness, shot through with incessant red 
flashes, as the ladrones, thrusting their muzzles through the 
parting timbers, searched every corner of the place with 
their fire, and frantically attempted to tear away the still 
stubborn bar which propped the staggering doors. For an 
instant he stood defiant, then suddenly sank into a clumsy 
heap upon the floor. One shoulder-strap had been clipped 
from his blouse, a second bullet had smashed his left hand, 
a spent piece of lead had plowed across his face, and blood 
from the veins in his forehead filled his eyes. Four times 
he had succeeded in emptying his revolver before the door 
gave way, and as the band of Visayans stumbled in over 
the wreckage he automatically emptied it for the fifth time, 
and slapped the useless piece of steel hard across the face 


THE PROMOTION 


139 

of the first man who bent over him, bolo in hand. Every 
man a demon, they fought each other for a chance to club 
or stab the huddled body in the corner, and not until each 
man had struck him was their wrath appeased. 

“Now up the stairs !” directed a voice, and a surge was 
made up the lower steps. The foremost Visayan stumbled 
and there was an instant of choking confusion. In the 
midst of it a voice shouted out above the curses, 

“Soldados! Soldados! Americanos!” 

A bugle was sounding outside the “convento,” a cheer 
arose above the boom of the surf, and a brilliant swath 
of light flashed athwart the entrance. 

For a second the breathless men in the crowded vestibule 
jostled each other in indecision. Then with a leap one of 
the band darted out over the ruined barricade and disap- 
peared. Like sheep the rest followed, frantic with a great 
fear and running like rabbits before the searching carbines 
of the approaching avengers, and leaving four dead com- 
rades behind them. 

The vestibule was hardly emptied before it was filled 
again to overflowing by deep-breathing, hatless, bare-throat- 
ed Jackies from the Laguna de Bay , who stood gravely 
watching while their young commander and a beautiful, sob- 
bing girl lifted a blood-soaked figure from the stone-flag- 
ging, and attempted to force a stimulant between its lips by 
the light of a hospital lantern. 

“Curses on the cowards !” groaned Adams. “They’ve cut 
him to shreds. Miss Duval, let one of the men do that. You 
need attention yourself. Just step aside, and we’ll put him 
on a stretcher. We have a surgeon aboard.” 

She silently obeyed. The sight of the battered face of the 
man who had defended her had stricken her with speechless 
anguish. The men deftly lifted the limp body to an impro- 
vised blanket-stretcher and started for the beach. Follow- 
ing closely, she became aware of the presence of old Do- 


THE PROMOTION 


140 

mingo. He was holding a second lantern, and his face 
worked convulsively as he raised his eyes to hers. 

“Now thanks be unto God that you are safe !” he said in 
Visayan. 

“And thanks to his servant, ‘Si Gugma,’ ” she said softly, 
looking at the heroic old disciple with a glow in her tear- 
stained eyes. “But, O my brother in Christ — if he should 
not live — if he should not live !” 

The humble colporter shook his head sadly, and trudged 
at her side behind the bearers, down to the thunder of the 
surf. 

They could make out the gunboat riding a quarter-mile 
beyond the breakers, the spreading fan of its searchlight 
bearing directly upon them. A ship’s boat was waiting to 
take the landing party back, and the wounded officer was 
carefully carried out in the boiling water and deposited 
skilfully in it. 

Adams stood at her side as Grace eagerly watched the 
difficult feat. 

“I deeply regret detaining you oil the beach an instant 
longer than necessary,” he apologized. “But I’ve ordered the 
men to row Lieutenant Heart immediately to the ship. He 
is bleeding badly, and needs quick attention, if he is to be 
given a chance for his life. They will come back for the 
rest of us shortly.” 

She was watching the bobbing lantern in the stern of the 
tossing tender as the sailors pulled steadily away toward 
the gunboat in the glow of the searchlight, and her voice 
was strained and unnatural. “May God restore him to us,” 
was all her contracting throat would allow her to say. 

Twenty minutes later she was in the captain’s own quar- 
ters on the little war vessel. 

“These are your quarters until we get to Iloilo,” said 
Adams, flushing with delight at the privilege of turning his 
cabin over to her, and staying out on deck all night himself. 


THE PROMOTION 


141 


“My ‘muchacho’ will attend you whenever you ring.” 

As she thanked him warmly she felt the vibration of the 
engines as they started full speed for Panay, and when he 
left her she felt so utterly weary that she entered at once 
into the inviting whiteness of the masculine boudoir open- 
ing off the little cabin. Glancing out of the port-hole before 
retiring at the swirl of waters rushing past, she was startled 
to see a mass of flame rising apparently out of the sea a mile 
or two astern. Looking steadily at it, she at last divined its 
meaning. The Jackies had fired the old “convento” before 
leaving the beach, and a great flapping flag of flame was 
waving her a fitting adieu from the rim of the outlaw island. 
****** 

It was a steamy-hot noon in the Headquarters Building 
on Iloilo “plaza,” and General Mercer Hugelet was eyeing 
his Adjutant sternly as that bustling official sorted out his 
papers preparatory to leaving for his light mid-day lunch 
and his three-hour “siesta.” 

“Yes, sir, I want that note sent to General Mac Arthur at 
Manila,” he was saying in his most stubborn voice. “I con- 
sider Lieutenant Heart one of the rising men of the Service 
and (by the Eternal!) I intend to save him from himself.” 

The Adjutant shrugged his shoulders eloquently. The 
General evidently read a protest in the action, for he 
scowled ominously. 

“When you have been in the Army as long as I have, 
Captain,” he said sharply, “you will understand that it is 
sometimes necessary to borrow ideas from Russia. I still 
have a little influence at Manila, and I intend to have Heart 
put where he’ll come back to his senses and stop rioting 
around as an escort to tender young Baptist missionaries. 
I’ve nothing to say against the girl, sir. She’s a plucky 
young Army product herself, I hear. But I’m going to see 
that Lieutenant Herbert Heart is promoted to a command 
remote enough and busy enough to win him back to his 


THE PROMOTION 


142 

military conscience. And I’m not going to wait until she 
has him salted down before I act. He goes to Manila for 
treatment at the Second Reserve on the Solace day after 
to-morrow, and if he gets back to love affairs and superla- 
tive romantics in the Department of the Visayas, it will be 
because my old friends in the War Office 



XVII 




HARD THINKING IN ABRA CANYON 

CRACK company of Regulars sprawled out 
u in their noon-day “siesta” on the plateau 
|< summit of square old Mount Taal. A half- 
mile below them the green serpent of the 
Rio Abra crawled flashing among gigan- 
*'/' tic boulders forever toward the sea. 

At every point of the compass ap- 
peared an irregular chorus of hills, with 
their sharp monarch, Bulagao, rising haughtily above them 
to the northward. The subdued roar of the river united 
with the cool winds from the China Sea to give the men a 
blessed sleep after their hard “hike,” and only two of the 
entire detachment were awake. A sentry stood statue-like 
far out on an almost overhanging butte, steadily watching 
the course of the river toward Vigan, and the newly ap- 
pointed captain of the company sat on the brink of the main 
precipice, his feet swinging out into space, his face bent 
unseeing on the sunny face of the hills opposite. 

Three long months in the Second Reserve Hospital at 
Manila had been a repetition in many respects of his experi- 
ence in the Brigade Hospital at Iloilo. But with one very 
important exception — the pain, the heart-searching, the 
helplessness, had not been relieved by any half-ashamed but 
darling hope. Without the aid of this secret medicine the 
doctors had found it hard to bring him back to reasonable 

M3 


THE PROMOTION 


144 

health. But he had painfully turned the goal at last, and 
had reported for duty while still cautiously dragging himself 
about. 

It seemed murder to put him on the active list so soon, as 
the Adjutant at Manila admitted, but there was a fearful 
shortage of officers in the fighting Sixtieth Infantry, just 
then engaged in stamping out a hot guerilla warfare 
amongst the gorges of Abra province in Northern Luzon. 
So, much to his surprise and chagrin, Heart found himself 
transferred from the dear old Fifty-fifth, promoted to a cap- 
taincy in the Sixtieth, and ordered to assume command of 
Company D at San Quentin, the loneliest post on the Abra. 
For a month now he had “hiked” over the hot stones of the 
“arroyos,” chasing elusive, stinging enemies, and by dint of 
hard work and careful, petty diplomacy had succeeded in 
“pacifying” his territory, and had relieved the provision flo- 
tillas passing on the river between Vigan and Banguet from 
the annoyance of insurgent sharpshooters. It had been 
wasting work, but he had more than held his own, for the 
night wind was colder than he had experienced elsewhere 
in the Islands, and howled a message of health to him every 
night up the hills. 

But the marks of his awful night at the “convento” gate 
could never entirely leave him. He would never again be 
able to hold a palette, for his left hand was twisted and 
palsied. A dull red scar, too, seared his face from eye- 
brow to ear. A second bolo-cut, deep in the right shoulder, 
had so drawn in healing that his old, commanding erect- 
ness was impossible, and he carried a bullet somewhere in 
the muscles of the left thigh. But the dangerous wound 
received at Ignotan was seemingly cured, and, apart from a 
general emaciation, he felt himself to be a well man. 

“Convoy in sight, sir.” 

The sentinel on the butte was pointing down at the river. 

4 line of oblong yellow patches showed upon the jade 


THE PROMOTION 


145 

green of its surface, and little brown figures clustered on 
each one. Lieutenant Davis was bringing up his precious 
ammunition and hard-tack through the threatening gorge to 
supply the belts and stomachs of the fighting regiments 
around Banguet, and his rafts were manned by muscular 
Ilocanos, poling against the glancing current. 

Heart’s keen eye soon made out the Lieutenant’s particu- 
lar craft, and as it came under his, lofty perch he made out 
Davis himself, waving his hat to him in salute. He re- 
sponded in kind, and, gathering up his command, followed 
along on the summit of the mountain, and then, in order to 
keep the rafts in sight, marched them down the winding 
trails to the edge of the Abra. He appeared on its bank op- 
posite San Quentin just as the last raft went laboriously 
by. A couple of rude Tinguane canoes were awaiting him, 
and, his task for the day completed, he supervised the ferry- 
ing of his men over to the post, and, crossing himself with 
the last squad, wended his way slowly to his tumble-down 
headquarters’ building. 

By three o’clock he had conquered the details of his post 
for the day, and had settled himself out on the balcony 
which overhung the roaring river — a New Testament on the 
table at his elbow. From his position there was no sign of 
life other than an occasional skimming bird, the other build- 
ings of the desolate little “barrio” being behind him in a 
fold of the huge hills. He was practically alone amid the 
mysteries of the sounding canon. He sat quietly, his hands 
motionless upon the arms of his wicker chair, until the 
shadow of the mountain behind him crawled like -a remind- 
ing index finger far up the face of the sun-lit hill opposite, 
and the company bugler sang the mess-call faintly above the 
roar of the waters. 

His old servant, Hong Kong, soon appeared with a simple 
meal, and after eating lightly of it he once more settled him- 
self to a deep reverie, until the stars looked over the rim of 


THE PROMOTION 


146 

the hills at him, the cool night wind moaned steadily past 
him, and the velvet shadows blotted out the stern lines of 
the grave young face. The young officer was listening, half- 
willingly, half-unwillingly, to a voice such as Elijah once 
heard in that other cleft in the rock in far-away Sinai, in 
a century long past, and so enrapt was he that even “Taps” 
sounded its lament unheeded by him. 

But somewhere near eleven o’clock he started suddenly 
to the rail of the balcony and leaned over, peering into the 
darkness. He had heard a sharp challenge from one of his 
sentries on the bank below. He listened intently, and was 
not disappointed. Up through the wind and the river’s com- 
plaint came a second challenge : 

“Advance, friend, and be recognized.” 

Apparently some one had come down the river and had 
landed at the post. Almost immediately came the tread of 
an orderly and the message, 

“Colonel Richards of the Engineers is below, sir.” 

With an exclamation of genuine pleasure, Heart sprang 
down the crazy staircase, and came back with his face hap- 
pier by far than it had shown for months, escorting a burly 
but martial-looking old gentleman, who came through the 
doorway and into the “sala” with his hand affectionately 
laid upon his young host’s shoulder. 

The new-comer was not entirely unexpected. He had 
passed on his way to Banguet a few days before, and had 
telegraphed down that he might stop at San Quentin in re- 
turning to Vigan. He had come up to look at the canon, 
with a view to putting a wagon road through paralleling 
the river, and thus obviating the necessity of rafting sup- 
plies. But he had known Heart’s father in the old days of 
the Army of the Potomac, and wished to meet the gallant 
son, whom he had not seen for years. 

Suddenly grown cheerful, Heart escorted him to his most 
comfortable corner, and celebrated by ordering Hong Kong, 


THE FROMOTION 


147 

in spite of the Colonel’s protest, to prepare a cup of some- 
thing hot. He then lit every candle remaining to him, and 
sat down with his guest. 

The Colonel was a man whose profile might have been 
stamped upon the buttons and medals of the Service as an 
embodiment of soldierliness. His features were regular 
and strong, his head impressive in shape, and well set upon 
broad shoulders. His gray mustache hung above a chin of 
adamant, and deep-set eyes, eagle-like in intensity, looked 
out from below heavy brows. His flowing white hair and 
old-fashioned imperial were reminiscent of those dashing 
days of which Heart had often heard, those days when 
Colonel Richards of the Engineers had been a dare-devil 
Captain in Custer’s Brigade of Michigan Cavalry. 

“Hong Kong will have you a little something shortly, 
Colonel,” he said. “We are all living out of cans up here, 
of course.” 

“Don’t worry, Herbert,” said the senior familiarly, think- 
ing of the strong resemblance to his old comrade in the 
young face before him, but noting, too, the haggard lines 
in it. “Don’t worry about the Commissary Department. 
Three wars have taught me little military science, but they 
have cured my stomach of all squeamishness. By the by, 
are you quite recovered from your affair in the Jolo Sea? 
You know I’ve been hearing quite a lot of your escapades 
through the Manila Times, and also from my old friend, 
General Mercer Hugelet.” 

“Why, thank you, Colonel, I feel that I’m improving 
every day.” 

“I fear you have been hurried back into active service too 
soon. You look a little drawn. This God- forsaken post 
isn’t depressing you, is it?” 

The Colonel was searching the young officer’s face care- 
fully as he asked the question. 

“I enjoy the canon. It seems to have been something of 


THE PROMOTION 


I48 

a tonic to me,” responded Heart, trying to evade the steady 
inventory of his guest’s kindly but piercing look. 

“I’m glad to know it — glad to know it. I’m to leave for 
the States in a few days, and I want to take a good report 
to that dear mother of yours. I want to be able to tell her 
that her boy is not only a hero, but a sensible soldier, taking 
the best care of himself because he is too chivalrous to cause 
his mother grief, and too patriotic to rob his country prema- 
turely of his services.” 

Heart flushed. The kindly tones of the comrade of his 
own father’s youth suddenly warmed him into a resolution 
to unburden his mind, and ask the counsel of this man whom 
both his father and his mother had been proud to call their 
friend. Hesitatingly he said: 

"Colonel Richards, I wish to unburden myself to you in a 
little confession. But I am afraid that if you allow me to 
do it, it will both startle and pain you.” 

“Now that’s just what I want you to do, my boy,” was 
the ambiguous but hearty response, and so, reserving noth- 
ing of the great mental struggle of the past three or 
four months, Heart told his story and asked for counsel. 

As he finished Hong Kong was quietly arranging the 
Colonel’s late supper, and, sipping the hot coffee absently, 
the veteran sat in deep thoughtfulness before answering. 
At last he turned his fine old face fully upon the younger 
man and said: 

“Herbert, before I counsel you in this important matter 
I want you to state your problem to me again. Do it slowly, 
so that I can get the issue more clearly before me.” 

In careful obedience. Heart began again more deliber- 
ately. 

“As you yourself doubtless knew, sir, my father was an 
actively Christian man, and my mother is an ideal of what 
Christian womanhood may be to the world. It is not sur- 
prising, therefore, that I should follow in their steps and 


THE PROMOTION 


149 

confess Christ. Strange to relate, however, I was prac- 
tically an unbeliever, a materialist, when the Iloilo mission- 
aries first met me, and it was mainly through their counsel 
and patience that I saw my difficulties vanish, and decided 
to take upon me the obligation of the Christian life. This 
I openly did several months ago, and naturally I have been 
something of a student of the New Testament ever since. 
Especially has this been the case during my sickness at 
Manila, and my leisure hours at this post. In my study I 
have seemed to find a call conflicting with my already 
chosen life-work. It seems almost unmistakable at times 
that it is God’s will for me to leave the Army and become a 
missionary. This is a bold way to state it, but it brings the 
issue out fairly. 

“Now, as to the bias of my own will, you must know what 
that is, for you know that the soldier in me began at my 
very birth. When I was but a little lad of nine I had al- 
ready become a General. I had succeeded in painfully cut- 
ting out several hundred paper soldiers, and, mapping out 
with chalk the bare floors of the old attic, I organized them, 
arrayed them and manceuvered them in mimic warfare. A 
little later I kept a careful enrolment of my regiments and 
their battles, reporting laboriously each engagement and the 
disposition of all my forces — infantry, cavalry, and artillery. 
Before I was big enough to hold the huge volumes steadily, 
I was feverishly feasting on Abbott’s Life of Napoleon and 
kindred books, and at twelve years of age I could have 
mapped the military career of the great Corsican from 
Brienne to Waterloo. Every book dealing with our own 
wars, ’76, 1812, and the four years of fighting in the Sixties, 
was food for me. At fourteen I was allowed to have an oc- 
casional handling of a gun. I caressed lock, stock and bar- 
rel with an almost sacred devotion. Merely to touch a rusty 
old musket or a dusty sabre hanging on the walls of our 


150 THE PROMOTION 

old home was sufficient to send a thrill of ecstacy through 
me. 

“Out of this early and constant passion came my art. I 
dreamed soldiers until I had to draw them, and I drew them 
everywhere, in my geography text-book, on my slate, across 
my arithmetic tablet, and even, shyly, on the blackboard, en- 
couraged by my teachers. 

“As a youth I delved into every military record I could 
discover. Nothing interested me more than the dry reports 
of the War Department which my father had stored away 
on his shelves. I perused intently the lives of Hannibal, 
Belisarius, Gesar, Charles Martel, Von Moltke, or who- 
ever else was on record as having struck a martial blow or 
planned a martial movement. Even now, with all my fa- 
miliarity with Army life, my nerves tingle at the bugle calls 
and the sight of marching men. I think, too, that I loved 
my country, that land so pre-eminently blest of God, with 
something approaching a veritable worship. And with such 
a passion for arms, wedded to a loyal affection for my coun- 
try and her institutions, I have hitherto felt myself firmly 
fitted in God’s place for me in this world. Surely, amid the 
armed forces of the world’s best Government, there is room 
for a Christian man to carve out for himself a career of 
far-reaching and dignified influence. When I think of that 
glorious Christian, ‘Chinese’ Gordon, or our own Robert E. 
Lee, I feel justified in the belief that I need not lay aside 
the Service I love in order to be true to my God. 

“Then, as I have said, there is the Artist within me, too. 
Born perhaps of my martial ambitions, it has persisted until 
it has become a large part of me. I shall never forget the 
thrill I experiences! the first time I entered a studio of my 
own. It was a bare and dirty room, but my imagination 
pictured it full of masterpieces, and I could not but feel that 
I had a universe of opportunity before me as I took up my 
brush and began my first ambitious picture. I still feel that 


THE PROMOTION 


151 

the Artist is own brother to the Poet in the inspiring of our 
laggard race. It is the method of the one to use ink, while 
the other uses paint. And such names as Michel Angelo 
and Raphael convince me that the Christian alone will some 
day stand the acknowledged prince of the modern artistic 
world, for the Christian alone possesses the supreme themes 
and the sufficient inspiration. Yes, I cannot but contend 
that there is room for me to serve my Redeemer in the 
realm of either Art or Arms. 

“But the disquieting of my soul ‘will not down,’ and thus 
I come to ask your counsel. I cannot read the word of 
God without something akin to a fear arising within me — 
a fear that it may be that in neither garrison nor studio 
shall I serve out my life, but rather as a missionary to these 
Filipinos whom we came here to fight. Such a role would 
have appeared ludicrous and impossible to me a few months 
ago, and even now I cannot think of a single department of 
life for which I am not better qualified. 

“This, then, Colonel Richards, is my problem. As a friend 
of my father and my mother, and as a lover of the Service 
and the Fine Arts, I ask your opinion as to my duty as you 
see it.” 

As Heart finished his statement and anxiously waited, the 
Colonel, forgetting his supper and all else but the young 
man’s appeal, rose from the table and moved closer to a 
group of candles sputtering on a ledge. Thrusting his hand 
into his blouse he pulled out a little soiled book in flexible 
binding. Opening it with care, he revealed a loose sheet 
of folded paper between its pages. 

“Come here, nearer this light, Herbert,” he said gravely. 

The young man arose and approached him. 

“This book, my lad, is my dearest treasure. It is a New 
Testament. This loose sheet is my ‘prayer-list,’ as I term 
it. You have appealed to me as a lover of the Service and 
a lover of the beautiful and true in Art. Listen, Herbert; 


THE PROMOTION 


152 

I am also a disciple of Jesus Christ. When I was a college 
student I fought a battle so similar to yours that it startles 
me to think of it. With me it was a question of the minis- 
try or the Army. I took the proffered commission, and I 
have found the service of my country glorious. But all 
down the years I have seemed to hear a voice, saying, ‘My 
child, you could have served your flag and country better if 
you had built up its manhood by the proclaiming of the 
gospel.’ It is easier to fight for one’s country than it is to 
invest one’s life in a quiet way to make that country worth 
fighting for. The Army has been a rough school, but, as 
you put it, there is room in its ranks and in its councils 
for that all-too-rare type of soldier, such as Philip Sidney, 
Stonewall Jackson, and ‘Chinese’ Gordon. I have ever had 
such ideals before me, and I have made partial peace with 
my conscience by being fairly faithful to them. On my 
mind I carry the problems of my department of the Service, 
but on my heart for years I have carried a more important 
burden — the names, the burdens, the spiritual needs of many 
of the individual men of my command. Ridley, who came 
down on the raft with me to-night, I led to Christ during 
the Porto Rico campaign.” 

Pausing a moment, the Colonel reached out his hand and 
placed it upon Heart’s shoulder, looking earnestly into the 
young man’s attentive, thoughtful face. 

“Herbert, you have, I believe, a great future in the ArmyJ 
I have read that book of yours on The American Army 
Necessarily Democratic. In it you touched our greatest 
problem and illuminated it. You have shown that you can 
not only fight, but deal skillfully with the fundamental need 
of our Service, a thorough revising of our present system, 
which apes the monarchical armies of Europe and encour- 
ages the constant friction of officer and enlisted man, and 
practically forbids, in time of peace, the enlistment of suit- 
able material. I should like to see you stay in the Army, 


THE PROMOTION 


153 

and eventually teach some of us older heads how to reor- 
ganize on a thoroughly military basis, and still avoid the 
aristocratic, autocratic red-tapism of our present methods. 

It would be a great service to your country, and it would 
bring the Regulars into the affection of the people — a thing 
as yet seemingly impossible. The whole country admires 
the Regulars, but the Volunteer is loved. 

“But listen. There is a mightier work than either the 
Army or the Art-world can offer you. To help a feeble 
race upward into the mighty spiritual principles of Christian 
living, and to introduce that people to the civil and political 
privileges growing naturally out of the gospel of the Re- 
deemer — that is in my mind a transcendent task. And, pro- 
vided the burden of this Malayan people is honestly upon 
you, and you verily believe in the might and blessing of the 
gospel, I solemnly advise you, as we stand here to-night, 
to heed the evident voice of your God, and atcept the pro- 
motion he offers you !” 

The Colonel stopped again, his eyes glowing. Heart 
stood answering the older man’s glance by a face frankly 
registering the battle stirring within him. 

“But I don’t know as you understand all that your advice 
means, sir,” he said brokenly. “This matter has impressed 
me as one of great anjd immediate urgency. If I do as you 
advise, how can I resign in the face of the enemy?” 

“Haven’t you heard the good news, lad ? It came through 
to Banguet on the wire yesterday. Funston captured Agui- 
naldo at Palinog last week. That means that the war is 
formally over.” 

“But there will still be bush-whacking, the hardest kind 
of service, and here I am, the only officer with Company ‘ 
D. How can I ask to be relieved under the circumstances?” 

“The hand of God is in this matter, Herbert. I am able 
to inform you that within a week a vacancy occurs on the 
staff of the Commander-in-Chief in Manila, and you have 

L 


THE PROMOTION 


154 

been selected for the place. It is, of course, a ‘soft-snap’, 
and there will be no disgrace in refusing such an assign- 
ment. Your way is clear to become a statesman for the 
Kingdom of God. As I conceive it, you will find in the 
ministry of Christ room for every whit of your faculties, 
room for your imaginative and artistic instincts, room for 
every wise word you can utter or write, and a call for every 
ounce of your soldierliness. In advising you to go into this 
I simply urge you to place yourself where your powers will 
be utilized in an all-round manner in behalf of a super- 
stitious, priest-ridden, tuba-drinking, cock-fighting, image- 
worshiping lot of promising raw material. It’s a glorious 
‘forlorn hope’ for God, my boy, with the world, the flesh and 
the devil against you !” 

The Colonel’s hand still rested on the young man’s shoul- 
der. His voice had lost every quaver of age, and rang clear 
with conviction. Heart felt his blood quicken. But for an 
instant more he vacillated. It was hard to allow the glori- 
ous allurements of the past to dissolve, even though, under 
the influence of the Colonel’s words, the beauty and wonder 
of a new vision of duty was breaking in upon him. 

But once more the Colonel spoke, and his words won a 
missionary for the firing-line of the Kingdom of God. 

“Herbert, you are a soldier. You know how to take or- 
ders. There is a ranking Officer in the universe. His name 
is Jesus of Nazareth. There is a ranking Commission in 
the old Book, signed in his blood. Hear me while I read it 
to you, and let your soul march with its words. Here it is : 
‘All authority is given to me in heaven and on earth. Go 
ye therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing 
them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the 
Holy Spirit; teaching them to observe all things whatso- 
ever I have commanded you : and lo, I am with you always, 
even unto the end of the Age !’ ” 


XVIII 


A RESIGNATION FROM THE STAFF 

EART sat in civilian dress in the cafe of an 
obscure hotel in the Walled City, just off 
the main thoroughfare, Calle Real. 
He was sipping his morning coffee 
and glancing over the Manila 
papers before opening up a batch 
of recently arrived mail. He was 
telling himself that it was now 
past time for the story of his 
resignation to appear in print in 
the news-hungry dailies of the city, and he was not sur- 
prised to find the expected criticism at last. 

As he opened the Manila Liberty he found a glaring 
head line sandwiched in between two prominent brewery 
advertisements. Its message was, “He Must Be Addled.’’ 
Beneath the head line was a full column of close print, 
containing, among other paragraphs, the following : 

The well known young soldier-author, Captain Herbert 
Heart, has resigned his commission in order to become a pro- 
fessional “Gospel-sharp.” This action was taken by him some 
two weeks ago, but only to-day was his resignation accepted 
and the facts made public. As is well known in Manila, Heart 
has made a brilliant record both in Cuba and these islands. 
His appointment, a month ago, as a member of the Divisional 
Staff, was well received by his brother officers. He was looked 

155 



THE PROMOTION 


156 

upon as having earned the assignment. His bravery at Santiago 
was conspicuous, and his capture of old General Concepcion 
in Panay is still fresh in the minds of the readers of Liberty. 
He was in the Abra country but a few weeks, but is said to 
have done good work in keeping the river open for the rafting 
of supplies to the Fifth and Thirty-sixth Regiments. Our 
Iloilo correspondent telegraphs that his infatuation for a 
beautiful young missionary is at the bottom of the affair. 
Heart’s former comrades in the Fifty-fifth on Panay are said 
to be greatly shocked at his action. 

Pl'eart winced as he read the concluding lines, but he 
bravely finished, and attacked the account in The Times, 
with a set jaw. This was started with a heavy-face line, 
“Calls Him A Coward !” and read in part : 

The strange action of Captain Heart in resigning from the 
Service has caused no end of comment since it leaked out last 
night. Major Sears, of the Twenty-third Cavalry, openly 
denounced Heart in the “sala” of the Officers’ Club last night 
during a recess in the dancing program. Before a large and 
approving group of officers he said : 

“No man who resigns in time of actual campaigning is worthy 
of the respect of true men. I have it from a friend of mine, 
an officer of Heart’s old regiment in Panay, that he spent most 
of his time down there hanging around a young woman mis- 
sionary at Iloilo, and that he was shipped up here to Manila 
to keep him from jumping the Service. If necessary, I will 
reveal the name of my informant. He is a well known and 
gallant soldier. Heart’s action, to my mind, is a disgrace to the 
Service. It shows us that a man may make a mighty creditable 
showing for years, and yet prove to be a man of straw. I am 
surprised that the War Office allowed him to shirk his duties 
by resigning. This blow to the honor of the profession is due 
to the careless way in which immature young men are allowed 
to displace older and safer men. Heart came into the Army 
from a paint shop, I understand. What could you expect he 
would know about the honor of the Service?” 

As the Major ceased there was a general murmur of assent 
from his auditors, several of whom were of high rank. Those 


THE PROMOTION 


I 57 

who did not condemn Heart’s action as cowardly characterized 
it as weak minded. There was some talk of expelling him from 
the club, but it was pointed out that he had never applied for 
membership or even attended its popular social functions. 

Heart’s face was decidedly grim as he searched for the 
account in The American Orient. 

He did not have to search for it. It 
stared at him from the front page, 
and began with a concise, “Prefers 
His Girl to His Uncle Sam.” As 
he read what followed a wave of 
blinding wrath swept over him, and 
he instinctively felt for the revolver 
he was never to wear at his side 
again. Among other things, better 
omitted here, appeared a paragraph, which unblushingly 
declared : 

Heart is one of those men who can put on religion to get 
a girl to marry him. It is very significant that the Captain’s 
new religious fervor is not of the Catholic celibate order. 
The American Orient knows of a certainty that this young 
officer, who has been touted as a marvel ever since he stumbled 
into Concepcion and allowed that coward to surrender to him, 
was an irreligious fire-eater until the beautiful Miss Duval, 
of the Baptist Mission at Jaro, met him. He immediately be- 
came a religious devotee (and also a devotee of Miss Duval’s). 
Our special correspondent, Montaville Whitney, who has been 
spending several months in the Visayas as the guest of dashing 
Lieutenant Turenne and his famous scouts, sends us two items 
of interest by wire. The first is that, after a careful investiga- 
tion, he finds that, had it not been for the bravery of modest 
Turenne in the skirmish at Ignotan, Concepcion would have 
escaped to the hills. Heart he believes to be a much-overrated 
man. His second item is of even greater interest. He says 
that there is a persistent rumor in Iloilo that Miss Duval eloped 
with Heart in a “prao” some months ago, hoping to reach 
Borneo and thus escape Uncle Sam’s penalties for deserting 



THE PROMOTION 


158 

officers. But, as our readers already know, they were wrecked 
on an island off Antigue Province, and a skirmish with ladrones 
in which Heart acquitted himself decently, allowed them both 
to come out of the affair with undeserved credit. It is morally 
certain that the readers of The American Orient will soon read 
in these columns of the marriage of ex-Captain Herbert Heart 
and Miss Grace Duval. Apparently Heart had to go the whole 
way this time to get her, for he admitted to our reporter, who 
interviewed him at his quarters, that he contemplated taking up 
missionary work among the Filipinos. He was unwilling to re- 
veal his exact place of activity. Well, God help the Baptist 
missionaries and their Filipino perverts ! 

For a full minute after reading the third article Heart sat 
grinding his teeth with a frightful passion surging within 
him. Then, in the midst of a resolve to call the editor of 
The American Orient to account at the muzzle of a re- 
volver, came the memory of Colonel Richards’s words that 
night in the Abra canon. “It’s a forlorn hope for God, 
my boy, with the world, the flesh, and the devil against 
you.” 

“The spawn of hell who wrote this article doubtless comes 
under the Colonel’s third division,” said Heart to himself, 
crushing the offending sheet into a wisp. “I suppose this 
attack is part of my new and greatest campaign.” 

Reflecting thus, he with difficulty calmed himself. Finish- 
ing his coffee, now cold in the cup, he turned to his mail, 
and after looking curiously over the postmarks, selected, as 
the first to be opened, one addressed to him in a heavy 
masculine hand from Iloilo. It ran: 

Dear Brother in Christ: — I read recently of your transfer 
to the Staff at Manila. I am writing this to ask you to do me a 
great kindness. As I wrote to you shortly after you left us, 
rny sister was to be invalided to Japan for a six months’ re- 
cuperation in that more bracing climate. It was with difficulty 
that I persuaded her to go. I do not want you to reproach 
yourself for her sudden collapse, which, while possibly hastened 


THE PROMOTION 


159 

by that experience in the typhoon, was really the result of long- 
continued overwork. Just before she broke down completely I 
succeeded in getting her consent to taking the furlough. She 
left here on the Tan-Auco for Manila two months ago, arriving 
at Manila, where she was to transfer to the Nippon Yusen 
Kaisha, while you were up in the Abra canon. She felt so 
weak upon arrival at Manila that she determined to accept the 
invitation of a Miss Selzer, a trained nurse at the Corregidor 
Hospital, to stay with her until able to proceed to Nagasaki. 
She has consequently been on Corregidor ever since, and has 
but just succeeded in gaining enough strength to proceed with 
her journey. When I write all the facts to the Missionary 
Union I think that they will probably order her home to the 
States. Meanwhile she will sail from Manila on the Yezo, 
of the Japanese Line, in a few days. It is impossible for me 
to leave my great responsibilities here to see my dear sister off, 
and no one will ever know just how hard it is for me to stay at 
my post when she needs me ever so little. Now, this is my 
plea : Could you not visit her at Corregidor and report to me 
her condition as the doctors at the hospital understand it, and 
then see her off to Japan? When I last saw her she was sadly 
changed. Her old happy disposition had left her, and I fear 
you will find her appearance quite a shock to you. Knowing 
the kindness of your heart, I venture this. 

In the Great Name, 

DAVIDSON DUVAL. 

N.B. — Don’t think I fail to carry you in my heart. At your 
convenience let me hear as to your own condition. I pray that 
your next assignment may be on the Island of Panay. 

Heart read the missionary’s letter carefully, twice, and 
sat musing a moment in his chair. Then, with a compres- 
sion of his lips, he placed his remaining mail in his pocket, 
paid his check and left the cafe at a brisk walk. Going 
directly to the Escolta, he sought out the agent of the Nip- 
pon Yusen Kaisha , and found that the Yezo was to sail 
within forty-eight hours. Hastening to the “Q.M.D.,” he 
found that a launch for the Corregidor trip would leave at 


6o 


THE PROMOTION 


ten o’clock. His wrist watch said nine. Taking a “car- 
romatta” back to the hotel, he made some hasty arrange- 
ments, dashed off a postal to Dr. Duval, wrapped up a 
Manila Times and mailed it to Colonel Bayard Richards, 
of the Engineer Corps, Washington, D.C., care Adjutant 
General’s Office. Then, hurrying his “cochero” down 
through the Walled City, across the Bridge of Spain, and 
along the Rosario, he made the launch just as she swung 



THE CITY WALL. 

away from the dock. It was a close connection for a half- 
sick man to make, but Heart sprang over the yawning strip 
of water and threw a coin back to his driver on the shore. 

“If I can only see her, and discharge this obligation be- 
fore she sees to-day’s papers,” he thought to himself, as 
the launch snorted out of the muddy mouth of the Pasig 
and turned its bow toward the far-off sentinel island. “It 
would be impossible to face her after she sees what a curse 
I have brought upon her good name. Even if she has not 
seen those slanders, will she forget my terrible discourtesy 
in the ‘convento’? Will she receive me at all? Well, I 
must see her. I’m starving for just a glimpse of her, and 


THE PROMOTION l6l 

if I do nothing else in life, I must ask her to forget my lack 
of chivalry to her. How the memory of my conduct has 
lashed me ever since that night !” 

Steadily the little launch churned out into the breezy 
bay, first threading through the miscellany of merchant 
ships at anchor off the Pasig’s mouth, then cutting saucily 
along the edge of the fleet of battleships and cruisers near 
Cavite Harbor, and at last working out into the open waters 
beyond. 

Three hours lacking seven minutes had been measured by 
the ex-Captain’s watch when the little vessel slid into the 
easy water at the quaint village under the Corregidor bluffs, 
and Heart, feeling within him a strange mixture of elation 
and fearfulness, stepped out on to the miniature landing 
and started up the path toward the Nurses’ Home of the 
Convalescent Hospital. Its corrugated iron roof rose among 
the palms but a hundred yards away. He was morally cer- 
tain that beneath it was the woman whom he had forever 
enshrined in his heart, and yet who doubtless still despised 
him. Summoning all his resolution he walked firmly up the 
gravel to the entrance, his face whiter even than usual, 
and his cane nervously twisting in his hand. 


XIX 


ON THE CARLIST PATH 



EARFULLY standing in the entrance after 
his card had been taken by the noiseless Chi- 
nese servant, Heart had felt more relieved 
than otherwise when the Celestial re- 


turned, saying that neither Miss Selzer nor “her 
friend” was in. Probably he would find them 
at the Hospital. 

Leaving word that he would call again with- 
in an hour, he left the grounds and started absently along 
the old gravel path leading from the beach to the light- 
house upon the plateau above the little village. Captured 
Catalonian partizans of Don Carlos, shipped in batches 
from Old Spain in times gone by, had been compelled to 
spend their servitude in building and maintaining the some- 
what elaborate trail, and although the dense growth en- 
croached on it here and there, he found no difficulty in fol- 
lowing it up the grade. 

After climbing some twenty minutes, however, he came 
to a place where the luxuriant tangle of vines and ferns al- 
most overarched him. Pressing through the soft barricade, 
he found the trail suddenly turning around a shoulder of the 
bluff and widening at a rude Stone bench, the China Sea — a 
glorious ultra-marine blue — coming into view far below 
him. Instinctively pausing to drink deeply of the pleasure 

162 


THE PROMOTION 


163 

of the view, he was rewarded for his sweeping glance far 
beyond his deserts. His eyes, coming back from the hori- 
zon line, and following the sunny slope of the bluff along 
which the trail was indented, rested upon a white-clad fig- 
ure which, coming nearer and nearer, finally hesitated with- 
in a few paces of him and smiled in recognition. It was 
the form of the woman whom he loved with all the passion 
of his nature, and he saw with a start of fearful surprise 
that her face was pale and wasted, her sturdy little body 
woefully fallen away, and the erstwhile firm little mouth 
quavering with nervousness despite her smile. But the 
great gray eyes looked out at him as gravely, as sweetly, as 
on the day they first searched him in surprise on the danger- 
ous trail to Alcala. 

“Miss Grace !” 

He had stepped forward, bowing reverently, and had ut- 
tered her Christian name unconsciously. Her kindly smile 
had meant that, in spite of his civilian dress, his partial 
stoop, and his scarred face, she had recognized him at once, 
and that he was not as unwelcome as he had feared. 

If she thought him presumptuous she did not reveal it. 
A tinge of color spread in her cheeks, and in response to 
his questioning look and a wave of his hand, she seated her- 
self on the resting-bench, looking up at him as he stood, 
leaning on his cane, in front of her. 

“What good fortune !” he said, trying hard to speak gaily, 
Dut feeling himself growing suddenly nervous and shy. 
“Your brother, you know, sent me word of your being here 
and I — I wanted to see you very much. I thought perhaps I 
might be of some slight service to you in getting your stuff 
ready for the Yezo” 

“It is good fortune, or better still, providential.” she said 
in a low, almost hurried voice, “that you should give me this 
opportunity of seeing you before I leave. As to the boxes 
and trunks, friends have attended to everything, and I fear 


THE PROMOTION 


164 

I cannot conscientiously use you. But I am glad you came 
over, for another reason. You can be of great help to me.” 

He was feeding upon her face as she spoke, his heart in- 
creasingly dismayed as he noted more closely her weary and 
ill appearance. 

“Pray command me,” he said gravely. 

“You can help me then, Captain, by just listening to me 
without interruption for a moment,” she began, dropping 
her eyes before his gaze, and nervously fingering the ker- 
chief in her lap. “I wish to apologize to you very humbly, 
sir. Now don't interrupt me, please. Ever since that 
wretched night in the ‘convento,’ when I said such fearful 
things to you, I have fairly hungered for an opportunity 
just to say to you frankly and without reserve that I con- 
sider myself to have been on that occasion most unpardon- 
ably insulting. And — and —can you forgive?” 

As her sentence broke down she gave way in some con- 
fusion herself, and, bending her head, hid her face in her 
hands, the sudden flush of her cheek spreading to her ears 
and neck. 

He had listened in amazement, and now looked down 
upon her, utterly at a loss. At last words came. 

“Miss Duval,” he said gently, “your words pain me deep- 
ly. You are greatly over-wrought. I am the one to talk 
that way. If there ever was an unchivalrous, mean-spirited 
ass, I was that character. When I should have spent every 
ounce of my strength and every bit of my ingenuity to pro- 
tect you from the slightest disagreeable thing, I woefully 
betrayed my trust. True, not all you said to me that night 
was entirely just, but I, not you, am to blame for the whole 
wretched episode. If you could only forgive !” 

His last words were hardly more than a husky whisper. 
Her face was still bowed, the soft breezes stirring the wavy 
brown hair revealed beneath the light straw “sombrero.” 
There was a half-minute of utter silence while the bright 


THE PROMOTION 


165 

afternoon sun shone around them, and the call of the sea- 
gulls came up to them from far below. At length she 
dropped her hands in her lap, and bravely tried to raise her 
eyes to his. 

“It was not ‘a wretched episode,’ ” she said softly. “I 
stood for the conventionalities that night. But I have often 
thought since that true love is very careless of convention- 
alities. In place of being bitter I should have been grate- 
ful. Whatever might have been the answer of my heart to 
your declaration, I should at least have remembered that a 
brave soldier’s love — a true Christian's love — is always an 
honor to the one to whom it is offered.” 

The unmistakable significance of her words awed him 
into a moment of absolute happiness. 

“Thank you,” he said simply. “My love is always of- 
fered you, you know. I can’t change that part of me. The 
day we met on the Alcala trail it was all settled for me. 
I’m very thankful, too. It has been God’s own gift to me, 
Miss Duval. It won me back to my soldierliness and it led 
me to the Master.” 

Her eyes grew misty with tears. 

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I was afraid for a time that I 
had not only wronged you, but driven you from the Master. 
That I could not have endured. Oh, it has meant so much 
to me to hear about you since you left us for the Hospital 
at Manila — how that you have been so true, so earnest for 
Christ.” 

She bent her head again. The vibrant tenderness in her 
voice suggested a wonderful possibility to Heart. Moved 
by Love’s unerring instinct, he dropped at her side upon the 
bench. 

“About my— loving you,” he said. “I’m afraid I shall 
always have to do it. It won’t annoy you, will it? The 
thought that I shall always hope against hope isn’t entirely 
abhorrent to you, is it, Miss Grace ?” 


THE PROMOTION 


1 66 

A long pause. His ear, bending to catch her answer, 
heard her breathe rapidly. 

At last the lowered eyes came bravely to meet his burning 
ones. 

“No/’ she breathed. 

As the soft syllable of hope entered his waiting, eager 
soul, his hand reached automatically for the pale little fin- 
gers lying tremblingly in her lap. Something in those dear 
gray eyes, something in the slowly crimsoning face, told 
him that his moment of triumph had come. For weary 
months he had never dared to hope for such an easy reali- 
zation of his life dreams as he now saw prophesied in the 
swimming, trusting, loving eyes which wavered in his 
glance. 

But even as he reached to clasp her hand a sudden chill- 
ing thought deterred him, and he arose to his feet. 

“Look up at me, Miss Grace/’ he commanded. 

Misunderstanding him, she obeyed, the color ebbing and 
flowing, but the gray eyes fearlessly lighting with the pure 
fire of her unashamed love for the man who stood before 
her. Had he met her look squarely he must have had his 
doubts slain then and there, and could have claimed with 
joy his wonderful heritage. But his eyes did not meet hers. 
He was searching the hollow lines of her face and crying 
within himself, “Ho ! ho ! soul of mine ! So this is thy new 
found chivalry, is it! Would’st thou take advantage of a 
weary, overwrought girl whose tender conscience is making 
her a sacrifice? Woulds’t show thy repentance for a for- 
'mer discourtesy by taking advantage of her nervous and 
morbid desire to atone for her past misunderstanding of 
you ? Go to, be a man ! be a Christian ! The child knoweth 
not her own mind.” 

And with a soldier’s promptness he sacrificed himself 
with hardly other outward evidence than a sudden clench- 
ing of his fingers around his cane-handle. Relinquishing 


THE PROMOTION 


1 67 

his inspection of her face, he attempted to straighten him- 
self to the old erectness which had once characterized him. 

“Miss Duval,” he said formally, almost coldly. “I am 
becoming unpardonable again. Time is short between this 
and the sailing of the Yezo. May I not escort you down to 
the village?” 

She, noticing the sudden change in his manner, had veiled 
her ardent, hopeful eyes, and, arising quietly to obey his 
suggestion, found herself weak and tremulous. 

In silence they slowly descended the path until the last 
bend in it brought into view the roof of the Nurses’ Home 
nestling in the palms ahead. A few steps further, and a 
cross-trail leading to the boat-landing caused Heart sud- 
denly to stop and pretend to consult his wrist-watch. It 
was merely a pretense, for he saw nothing but the white 
blurr of its face, the mist in his eyes making the figures on 
the dial undistinguishable. Stopping at his side, she intui- 
tively knew r that the moment of parting had come. 

He faced her with an effort. 

“Miss Duval, only your assurance that I cannot be of 
any service whatever in the matter of your luggage pre- 
vents me from accompanying you the few remaining steps 
to the Home. I see that the launch is just about to start on 
its return trip to the city. I — I do not dare to trust myself 
to say anything about my hopes for you — for your health, 
your recovery in full, your return. God knows my heart. 
You have given me some hope that after all you believe in 
the reality of my Christian profession. May I not then 
say, as my parting word, that I shall be most constant in 
prayer for Heaven’s richest blessings to be upon you? And 
now, farewell. May the cool, healing air of the Sunrise 
Kingdom be a medicine to you, and may God’s grace sur- 
round you. There is nothing better than the old ‘adios.’ ” 

She listened quietly as he spoke, a piteous little quiver 
trembling across a face once more bloodless and drawn. 


1 68 


THE PROMOTION 


“Adios,” she echoed wistfully. 

Repressing with grim resolution a battling desire to 
pour out his heart to her, and passionately claim the right 
to minister to her out of the abounding wealth of his love, 
he raised his hat formally and turned down the cross-trail 
toward the dock, walking half-blindly over the gravel, and 
uneasily conscious of the fact that she had not stirred from 
the spot where he had left her. 

At the debouching of the trail upon the little pier, he felt 
himself compelled to turn and look back. He had covered 
a considerable distance, but could still make her out quite 
plainly, and he was never to forget the almost pathetic sim- 
plicity of her attitude as she stood, her hands clasped light- 
ly in front, her face still turned down the leafy avenue 
through which he had just come. 

“Dear little white angel !” he whispered to himself — and, 
half-ashamed, ventured to wave his hand in a last adieu. 

Either she did not see or did not care to respond, for she 
remained quite motionless, her white-clad form marked in 
statuesque clearness against the deep green of the huge 
ferns at her back. 


XX 



THE NEW BROTHER AT THE BAPTIST MISSION 

the very day that Heart had sailed 
from Manila to Iloilo to interview 
Dr. Davidson Duval concerning the pos- 
sibility of a missionary career on Panay, 
his old commander, General Mercer Hu- 
gelet, had embarked on the United 
States Army transport Logan for 
^ j 7 the States, and with him went the fighting 
1 Fifty-fifth, homeward bound with an hon- 
orable record and with only two clouded faces among its 
many officers, the respective countenances of Dr. Jim Hil- 
ton and Lieutenant Monty Smith. And flowing into the 
dusty capital to take their places came a brand-new regi- 
ment whose rawness was fitly symbolized by their English- 
aping cork helmets and their utter contempt for the dangers 
of excessive alcohol in the tropics. 

Under the new regime the “bino” joints flourished from 
Iloilo to Capiz, and from Dumangas to San Jose de Buena 
Vista. 

Some three weeks after the command had settled itself in 
the Province a group of its officers gathered under the grate- 
ful shade of the corrugated-iron awning in front of Povey’s 
notorious dive in Iloilo. They were busily discussing a 
topic of more than usual interest. 

The chief speaker was our old friend, Lieutenant Turenne, 
m 169 


THE PROMOTION 


170 

looking a trifle coarser than when we last saw him at Igno- 
tan. The only officer of the Fifty-fifth to remain behind, 
he had been transferred at his own request to the new- 
comers, and was acting as Provost-Marshal of Iloilo. 

“Yes, gentlemen,” he remarked languidly, “it was the 
biggest circus I was ever in, and one of the surprises of my 
life as well. You understand that my duties include super- 
vision of all public gatherings of natives, both here and at 
Jaro and Molo. That nigger-loving Baptist missionary 
Duval has been an object of suspicion to me for some time, 
and when, in passing through Jaro last night, I saw a crowd 
of ‘Khakiaks* jammed into' his meeting-place, I naturally 
pushed up to the door and looked in.” 

Here Turenne stopped to sip appreciatively his whiskey- 
and-soda, and note the respectful attention of his ring of 
auditors. He then continued: 

“The place was fairly steaming with Visayans. I could 
hardly get standing-room near the entrance. They were lit- 
erally two deep all over, and it took me some minutes to 
make out the business in hand. First they all whined off a 
couple of songs ; then Duval rose up with that pious air of 
his, and worked off an unctuous prayer in the jargon, and 
then came a good deal of fussing about a triple-plated read- 
ing of the Bible in English, dialect, and Spanish. At this 
point I became satisfied that they were harmless fools and 
not a band of Katapunan in disguise, and I was elbowing 
my way out again when the whole outfit rose to their feet, 
and began stretching their necks toward the front. Looking 
with the rest I made out an American mounting the plat- 
form, and shaking hands with the chief Visayan swells, who 
were seated around Duval. Something about the fellow 
jarred my memory, and I recognized him in spite of his 
changed appearance. You fellows probably know all about 
that queer resignation from the Service that the papers 
were full of a while ago, but you may not know that the 


THE PROMOTION 


171 

notorious Captain Heart and I were at one time pretty good 
friends. That, of course, was before he marked himself out 
as a poltroon. 

“Well, the fellow on the platform was my erstwhile 
brother-officer of the Fifty-fifth, Captain Herbert Heart, 
and while I stood there with my mouth open looking at him 
it suddenly occurred to me that the purpose of the meeting 
was to make the renegade into a missionary, and I naturally 
lent all my eyes and ears. First came speeches by Duval, 
three Visayans (one of them that ugly little Domingo I’ve 
told you about), and a last one by Heart himself. I didn’t 
make out much of his talk. It was in pretty ragged Vis- 
ayan. Then, after the speeches, they made Heart get down 
on his knees before the crowd and a half-dozen old grey- 
headed ‘insurrectos’ knelt around him in a circle, with their 
right hands piled on his head. Then came a patter of prayer 
from all over the room, with the chief effort from Duval, 
and then a doxology from the whole crowd. This wound 
up the ceremony, and I pushed out feeling like jailing the 
whole outfit. Think of it, gentlemen ! Think of letting a 
lot of dirty ‘Khakiaks’ run their fingers through your hair 
and slobber over you in make-believe prayers ! Ye gods, I 
would have believed Heart stark mad if I didn’t happen to 
know what his real malady is.” 

“Where is he cracked, Turenne?” asked one of his lis- 
teners.” 

“Oh, he’s after Duval’s sister. Anything goes with him 
until he gets her. And, by the gods, I don’t blame him 
much. She is a dainty little miracle.” 

Here three officers at least lost their careless attitudes 
and leaned forward in genuine intensity. 

“Duval got a sister?” asked a blear-eyed Captain, instinc- 
tively running his hand over his unshaven face, and straight- 
ening himself to his most martial “pigeon-breast.” “Strange 
we haven’t seen her.” 


172 


THE PROMOTION 


“He’s the brother of a beauty,” said Turenne, grinning at 
their sudden seriousness. “But unfortunately for us all 
she’s recently returned to the States.” 

“Why doesn’t this fellow Heart follow her up, then ? He 
can’t find it very pleasant here after the way the Manila 
papers roasted him.” 

“Oh, I reckon she’s put him on probation or suspicion or 
something. Mark my words, gentlemen, she’ll be back here 
inside of six months, and the hoped-for consummation will ‘ 
take place as per private schedule.” 

Turenne’s voice contained so grating an emphasis that 
one or two looked at him in something of surprise. Could 
it be possible that the dashing Provost-Marshal had strong 
feelings on the subject of women missionaries himself? 

His next words allayed suspicion. 

Rising to his feet, and flipping the dust from his leggings 
with his light rattan cane, he said carelessly: 

“Don’t miss that affair at Gonzale’s to-night. Little Pa- 
peete is worth your time alone. And I hear that the pretty 
batch of ‘mestizos’ from Molo are coming over to fight her 
for the supremacy. Now that we’ve taught the fair Vis- 
ayan daughters our waltzes they are worth a man’s while. 
Adios !” 

* ******* 

Turenne was right concerning Heart’s ordination. In 
a service which fairly shook his soul with its intense fervor, 
and melted him to the humility of a little child with its 
warmth of brotherly love, Heart had had the ordaining 
hands of Davidson Duval and his Visayan assistants placed 
upon his bowed head during the ordaining prayer, and had 
been solemnly initiated into the greatest career and the 
most tremendous responsibility of human life — the respon- 
sibility and career of a prophet and teacher of God amidst 
a degraded and Christless people. For hours after his re- 
turn from the public service at Jaro he had knelt in an 


THE PROMOTION 


T 73 

agony of prayer in the flimsy old building on Calle Concep- 
cion, pleading again and again that the greatness of his 
work might not overwhelm him, and that great grace might 
be vouchsafed to him to atone for his lack of special fitness 
and training. 

The following day he had begun the routine of his labors 
with an enthusiasm he had never felt before, either in studio 
or barracks. A natural student, he took to his morning 
studies in the Visayan dialect with avidity, and as the weeks 
came and went in rapid succession, his appetite for biblical 
studies under Dr. Duval’s tutelage grew stronger and 
stronger. The mingling of the intellectual and the ethical 
in the wise courses prepared for him in the Life of Christ, 
the Apostolic Church, and Christian Doctrines, opened up 
a world of delight to him, and each morning found him 
bravely poring over his books in the hot, close atmosphere 
of the humble mission-house. Afternoons found him regu- 
larly at the dispensary, picking up a good deal of practical 
medicine, and nursing and relieving his senior of much 
petty detail. He soon began gradually to visit in the “nipa” 
houses of the native Baptists, holding personal conversa- 
tions with many who were anxious to know more of the 
Protestant position. Democratic both by nature and grace, 
he soon won a large measure of devotion from the disciples, 
and the prestige of his splendid army record served him 
well in getting the attention of otherwise indifferent Vis- 
ayans of the higher classes. His evenings were mainly 
given to additional study, or in accompanying Dr. Duval out 
to nearby “barrios” and trying his increasing Visayan vo- 
cabulary upon the curious and polite little audiences. 

At the end of six months his new vocation had gripped 
him with tremendous force, and, utterly lost in it, the sore- 
ness of his heart over his treatment by many old Army 
friends was gradually assuaged, and a new peace came into 
his life of which all the curious or averted looks of the brand- 


THE PROMOTION 


174 

new regiment and all the bitter reproach and expostulation 
from friends all over the world could not rob him. In 
due time, amongst the many angry letters of his suddenly 
increased mail, two had arrived from his mother. The first 
had been written by her immediately upon reading Associ- 
ated Press items in regard to his resignation. The second 
had been penned hurriedly just after Colonel Bayard Rich- 
ards had visited in the old Wolverine homestead. The first 
had been almost hysterical, but the second was calm, loving, 
commendatory, praiseful. A brief note from the Colonel 
himself had been a characteristic tonic. “Don’t worry, Her- 
bert,” it had read. “The newspapers always will get it 
wrong. Why, once they called me a “bottle-scarred veteran,’ 
and when I expostulated they came out in their next issue 
with it changed to ‘battle-scared veteran.’ So what’s the 
use! You have as many real friends as ever, several new 
admirers, and all of my love. 

“Mercer Hugelet and I had a battle-royal about you yes- 
terday, and I made a Sedan out of him.” 

But the work was Heart’s chief medicine, and as the 
great conception of the Kingdom of God grew upon him 
in his daily study of the inspired documents of the New Tes- 
tament, he rejoiced in spirit that to him, a humble disciple 
in the end of the ages, was it given to apply the mighty 
purpose and plans of his Leader to the problems and needs 
of an ignorant and superstitious, yet promising and plastic 
people. In his hours of meditation he often found a pro- 
found intellectual exercise in an attempt to grasp something 
of the scope of the evident program of the Redeemer, as set 
forth in the Gospels and condensed in the Great Commis- 
sion. After such efforts he often recurred with a smile to 
that time in his life, not far past, when he had conceived of 
the Christian ministry as a narrow profession, and its 
sphere of operation decidedly limited. More and more he 
"was coming to see that Colonel Richards’ prophecy was to 


THE PROMOTION 


175 

come true — he was to find in his new calling a constant de- 
mand for every element of his varied personality, for the 
utmost of his thinking, of his loving, and of his ability in 
administering. He was finding not only his task and his 
God, but — himself. 

One day at luncheon, seated opposite his bearded senior, 
he suddenly pushed aside his chocolate cup and abruptly 
said : “Doctor, I’ve something to say.” 

The other man raised his kindly face expectantly, and 
Heart continued: 

“Did I understand that you expected your sister to re- 
sume her work with you here in Jaro?” 

“It has been my constant prayer, Brother Herbert. She 
needs a longer rest, but the Society writes me that new men 
are scarce, and what with the increased needs of Burma, 
Japan, and Africa, my field here can hardly hope for speedy 
reinforcement. The ministry at home seems to hold back 
nine out of ten of our seminary graduates, and, knowing as 
I do the great need of hard work here just now, if we are 
to deliver this people from priestcraft and yet not allow 
them to drift into free-thinking, I felt justified in urging 
Grace to hasten her return to me. And, by the way, Her- 
bert, I believe I have failed to give you a little message she 
sent you in her last letter to me. She wished me to say that 
your decision for the vocation of a missionary was a clear 
bugle note to her own soul, calling her to a more intense 
consecration, and the thought that I had been reinforced by 
you has taken a great burden from her heart. I’m afraid 
she has been unnecessarily worrying about me.” 

Heart’s face was non-committal, and his companion 
failed to notice the trembling of his hand as he toyed with 
his saucer. 

“Very kind of her to remember me,” he replied evenly. 
“Will she, then, in your judgment, resume her work here in 
the near future?” 


TIIE PROMOTION 


I76 

“I have faith to believe so,” said Duval hopefully, his 
mobile face lighting up. “Grace has never failed to respond 
when I have felt compelled to call her to me. And, besides, 
she writes me of a great improvement in her health.” 

For a moment Heart sat motionless and thoughtful, and 
then gradually led the conversation into other channels, but 
the usual topics were soon exhausted, and Duval at length 
broke with them abruptly by saying, 

“Oh, by the way, what was on your mind a few minutes 
ago ? Did I understand that you wished my advice on some 
matter ?” 

“Yes, to be sure, Doctor. We have drifted a little from 
the subject, haven’t we? This was what I had upon my 
heart — I desire to launch out into the interior, and establish, 
with your permission, a second station in the midst of the 
‘barrio’ country, say at Carisinan or Marotac. You have 
put a pretty good life-belt about me. Now throw me out 
into the deep, please, and well away from Jaro.” 

The eyes of the missionary sparkled. 

“You’re a man, Herbert!” he cried delightedly. “Why, 
I’ve been dreaming for a year of the time when we could 
send some one up to Marotac to minister to those simple- 
hearted a'nd comparatively unspoiled ‘barrio’ people. Praise 
to the mighty Name! This is nothing less than the Mas- 
ter’s leading. Flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto 
thee, but the Father who is in heaven !” 

Heart felt the color come into his face at this unmerited 
praise. He was well conscious that his motive in asking to 
be sent into the interior was a very mixed one, the predomi- 
nant element being a panicky fear that Grace might come 
back to Jaro and find him there. For well he knew that a 
hundred tongues would hail so delicious an item with a de- 
lirium of gossip. 

“We’ll fix you out next week,” were Duval’s last words. 
“I can’t very well leave the dispensary and other work here, 


THE PROMOTION 


177 

as you know, but Domingo and Stefano will go into the 
hills with you and get you started in the work at Marotac. 
They will like nothing better.” 

“No need of diverting Domingo and Stefano from their 
regular tours,” objected Heart firmly. “I want to help and 
not hinder. I’ve picked up a man from Romblon ‘barrio,’ 
seven miles from Marotac. He is bright and in earnest, 
and will be an excellent henchman for me. Now what can 
you spare me in the way of Testaments and other supplies?” 

Five days after this conversation two events of interest 
marked the life of Davidson Duval. He conscientiously 
noted them down in his well-worn journal. 

“Jaro, June nth, 1900. — Captain Heart started at 5 a.m. 
with a supply of Testaments, leaflets, hymn-books and other 
Visayan literature, to open up a station at Marotac in the 
‘barrio’ country to the north. He has been wonderfully led 
hitherto, and I do not fear but that he will be prospered of 
God. After watching his ox-cart out of sight I felt a little 
lonesome, for we have come to love each other as David and 
Jonathan, and I went into Iloilo for the mail. To my great 
joy I received a letter from Grace. She writes that she will 
sail from Seattle for Yokohama not later than August, and 
should without fail be able to spend Thanksgiving Day with 
me. Praise to the Mighty Name ! I am not forgotten.” 


1 


THE PROPHET OF PANAY 



CASUAL visitor to the Philippine Ar- 
chipelago is usually content with touch- 
ing the mere rim of things. He stays 
on his steamer or dallies amid the 
streets of the little ports while his ves- 
'II sel discharges her merchandise or loads 
her sugar, rice or tobacco, and hence 
never knows the lazy mystery of the simple 
life in the “barrios.” To such of us as have 
baked in the saddle across the divides of Lu- 
zon and Panay, it seems altogether natural that Heart 
should find compensations at Marotac. At Iloilo there was 
an ice-plant and a laundry, also the latest papers (six weeks 
old) and stray magazines; but at Marotac there was the at- 
traction of a typically Malayan life, and a population with 
something of the dignity and modesty of the primitive Vis- 
ayan, as yet unspoiled by English trader or Spanish priest. 

He had chosen the new center for several reasons. It was 
a widely-known market-town, although high perched among 
the foot-hills, and central Panay flowed to it with weekly 
regularity. Then, too, the religion of its people was of a 
more simple type of Catholicism than in the more cosmo- 
politan towns nearer the Coast. But mainly he had gone to 
Marotac because of the absence of an American garrison in 
the place, for he was in no humor to trim his actions to suit 

178 


THE PROMOTION 


179 

the arbitrary policy of the new force of occupation. He 
knew the Army too well, and loved its higher traditions too 
dearly to feel at ease in a town where some slave of mili- 
tary theory, some little autocrat encased in narrow profes- 
sionalism, “bossed” the Filipinos and tyrannized over his 
own men through sheer delight in new-found authority. He 
had avoided, as far as possible, the successors to the Fifty- 
fifth, but had noticed with amusement their aping of Ger- 
man visors and English helmets and leggings. For the men, 
sullen and harassed looking, he had sympathy, but the red 
faces of the “whiskey-and-soda” officers, with their turned 
up mustaches and their “corset-waists,” aroused only his 
dislike. Stories of harsh treatment of natives had not sel- 
dom come to his ears, and, on the whole, he felt that he 
could do his work better in a community without a garrison. 

Thus he found himself in a native town of several thou- 
sand people, entirely unarmed save for a stock of Bibles 
and a trunk of civilian clothes, and accompanied only by a 
wiry little Baptist colporter known as Samson. 

But, with his mind kindling with the thought of his diffi- 
culties, he rented a house, explained the meaning of his 
descent to the surprised and perplexed “presidente,” and 
went cheerfully to work to overcome the natural suspicion 
of the people. His plan of campaign involved no little 
hardship to himself, for he was unaccustomed to native 
foods, and suffered some in body as a consequence, but his 
fourth month of “barrio” life found him well adjusted to his 
environment, and better initiated into the humble life about 
him than any less drastic method than actually living 
among them would have permitted. For instance, he saw 
plainly what hitherto had been a matter of suspicion only, 
that the so-called Catholic Church of the Philippines was 
inimical to the higher interests of the Visayans. Despite a 
reluctance springing both from his natural fair-mindedness 
and his warmth of heart in his newly found Christian life, 


THE PROMOTION 


180 

he was compelled to conclude that a church which refused 
to bury a corpse unless the relatives paid well, and even 
^then dug up the remains if a yearly rental on the grave was 
not forthcoming, was not according to the mind of Christ. 
With increasing pain and indignation, he secured evidence 
of the dense ignorance of the Catholic-trained native “pa- 
dres,” and found that their chief equipment for fighting 
tuba-drinking, cock-pit gambling, and a thousand other sins 
amongst their own people seemed to be confined to a quali- 
^ fied ability to say the Mass in Latin! They knew no sci- 
ence, no history, no geography, no Bible, and little even of 
their own Church and its pretensions. He found that the 
exorbitant marriage fees of these supposed guardians of 
public morality were so large that the marriage rela- 
tion was entered into by most of the people without any 
ceremony or guarantees of any kind. Sermons were rarely 
v/ preached, and remote chapels in the poorer “barrios” were 
only visited when a tidy sum could be realized. The best 
house in each town or “barrio” was invariably the priest’s, 
and in the old Spanish days the hierarchy had perfected in 
each parish a pocket-filling system which would have com- 
pelled the admiration of any American “captain of indus- 
try.” For the benefit of the padres every tallow candle was 
necessarily “blessed” — for a consideration — ere it could be 
lit, and even women’s veils and children’s shoes paid a per- 
centage to the pockets of the favorites of God. Their power 
to tax directly was now gone, but, with the burying-grounds, 
the marriage altars, and the baptismal fonts in their pos- 
session, they were still the selfish oppressors of the poor and 
y the perverters of the gospel of the One who said, “I came 
not to be ministered unto, but to minister.” In some cases, 
both at Marotac and in near-by places, Heart found among 
the padres men of natural intelligence, good-nature and fair 
intentions. But their utter lack of spiritual travail over 
their flocks, their ignorance of all else in the world save 


THE PROMOTION 


181 


Madrid and Manila, and their extremely fanatical fear for 
the integrity of their privileges, made it almost impossible 
for him to help them. This he tried to do, however, and 
while winning a padre at Marotac and one at Sigbunan to 
the new life in Christ, he only succeeded in arraying the 



LITTLE APOSTOLIC CHURCHES 

bulk of them more solidly against him ; and what with their 
natural influence and the effect of their industrious malign- 
ing of him, there was more than one sharp crisis in his first 
preaching tours. Of insurgents he had no fear, for the en- 
tire island had become remarkably quiet, save for ladrone 
raids on exposed points. But the increasing bitterness of 
the alarmed priesthood dug many a pit for him. 

His vocabulary was soon much improved, and he was 
pleased to find that, impromptu-missionary as he was, the 
people listened to him with increasing interest. He now 
knew something of a missionary’s practical problems, and, 
without losing his enthusiasm, became decidedly wiser in 


THE PROMOTION 


182 

his methods. Realizing, too, his great lack of training, he 
eagerly devoured such books as were sent up to him over 
the trails from Dr. Duval’s scanty library. “Read them be- 
fore the ants finish them,” had been Duval’s message, and 
in quick succession Heart opened his soul to vivid impres- 
sions of Wesley, Bunyan, Francis of Assisi, Moody, Brooks, 
Spurgeon, Broadus, Luther, Pierson and Savonarola. Each 
in turn had their chance at his eager mind, and although 
their inspiration came to him in miscellaneous bits and at 
odds and ends of his hard-working days, they combined with 
his increasing appetite for his English Bible to mold him 
into a workman who needed not to be ashamed. 

Time went on. Rain gave place to dust. Feeling the mo- 
mentum of his influence among the people increasing, he did 
not spare himself, but reached out farther and farther in his 
journeys, accompanied by Samson and the evangelical 
priests, and cheered on by an ever-enlarging circle of dis- 
ciples. Soon came the joy of his first baptisms. Leading 
twelve men into the cool current of the Rio Verde, far up 
at its rising in the hills, he baptized them into the name of 
his Thrice-Revealed God, while the natives looked on in 
amazement, seeing a Scriptural baptism for the first time in 
their lives. At length the active opposition of the padres 
was unable to cope with his doctrines longer, and on his cir- 
cuit of eight or nine mountain “barrios” he always found a 
crowd at the plaza awaiting him. Then, placing as much 
responsibility as he dared upon his dusky coadjutors, he 
fearfully sent them out to multiply the truth, and found to 
his joy that their lives were staunch and their witness ef- 
fective. A few of his workers failed him, but the many 
were true as steel. 

As a result of his active campaigning, increased orders 
for Visayan Testaments and other supplies poured into Ilo- 
ilo and overwhelmed the little station where Duval strug- 
gled on alone, without the hoped-for reinforcements. Word 


THE PROMOTION 


183 

had come to the veteran missionary that a canvass of the 
denominational seminaries gave but little promise of even a 
tithe of their flesh and blood for the “firing-line” of the 
kingdom of God, and as for -more money, the rich Baptists 
of the home-land were still tightly clutching their stocks 
and bonds and going regularly to church. 

But Duval did the best he could in response to Heart’s 
appeal for workers and supplies. He worked overtime on 
his own station, and still found time for sending his remain- 
ing few supplies and messages of good cheer to Marotac, 
praying as he did so that Grace, now out on the Pacific, 
might safely come to him, and that the slumbering host of 
God at home might be aroused to forward, of its many men, 
at least a handful for the redemption of the Visayans. 

One secret of Heart’s success amid the “barrios” was his 
constant emphasis of Philippine independencia. This he de- 
fined to mean, not a political separation from the American 
Government, but a political, commercial and spiritual devel- 
opment under American protection and tutelage. They were, 
he pointed out to them, already admitting the futility of 
fighting longer against the “North Americans.” Every- 
where the remnants of the Insurgent Army were coming 
into the American lines, and abandoning their hopeless at- 
tempt, and only the ladrones were in the field, and they, not 
for independencia , but for plunder. True independence 
meant independence of mind, attained by modern knowl- 
edge, and independence of immorality and selfishness, at- 
tained by accepting Christ as Lord and Master. He prophe- 
sied often in all the “barrios” that the United States would 
soon send them teachers to emancipate them from ignor- 
ance, and when the first groups of American teachers ac- 
tually landed in Cuba and Panay, he was hailed as a verita- 
ble prophet. The cleaner living of those who were begin- 
ning to class themselves as “Protestants,” and especially 
the marked change in those who were received into his band 


THE PROMOTION 


184 

by baptism, gave great emphasis to his words concerning 
independence from sin, and only a brief six months from the 
time he had creaked out of Iloilo in his ox-cart and taken 
the trail to Marotac, he had the satisfaction of counting five 
staunch little apostolic churches in and near his station. 

During all this time his contact with the troops had been 
limited to the occasional meeting with a patrol. There was 
practically no active resistance to American sovereignty 
around Marotac, and the new Department Commander at 
Iloilo hardly made his power felt beyond organizing the 
“barrio” police and armine them with captured Mausers. On 
the rare occasions when Heart did see the old uniform and 
insignia, he invariably felt that the patrols had been told 
queer things about himself, for they stared at him dubiously 
and, usually in command of “non-coms,” passed him in some 
embarrassment. 

Just at the beginning of his seventh month at Marotac he 
was riding along a rather dangerous trail some miles north 
of the town, in company with a native disciple known as 
Pedro, both being mounted upon sturdy little ponies. Turn- 
ing the shoulder of a hill at the close of the day, he saw in 
the dusk ahead a cheerful campfire burning at the edge of 
the trail, and was an instant later halted by a sentry. 

Satisfied with their “cedulas,” the guard jealously allowed 
them to pass, but as they trotted on by the bivouac the offi- 
cer in command stepped out into the road and raised his 
hand. 

“Stay and have some dinner with me, Reverend,” he said 
as they reined in. “I’m fearfully lonesome to-night, and 
there are two chickens in immediate prospect.” 

Heart looked rather wistfully down into the frank face of 
the would-be host. 

“I have a friend with me,” he said, hesitatingly. “We 
will make his ‘barrio’ only three miles farther on.” 

“There is plenty for the three of us,” was the hearty re- 


THE PROMOTION 185 

sponse, and the two travelers tumbled out of their saddles 
and tied their horses to the bamboos. 

A few minutes later Lieutenant Billy Ludlow was 
volubly entertaining his guests, as the three sat around an 
appetizing meal in the glow of a crackling fire. 

“You are new to Panay?” suggested Heart, after a long 
and inspiring seance over his share of the chicken. 

“Fresh from the States, sir,” said Billy. “This is my first 
experience with the gentle Filipino. Word came up to Al- »* 
cala three days ago that the ladrones were pretty sassy along 
this trail. I used to rustle the Apaches a little along the Rio 
Grande, and they sent me up here instead of the Captain. 
Great luck, isn’t it?” 

For an instant Heart hesitated to continue the conversa- 
tion. All the soreness had not quite disappeared from his 
soul over the treatment accorded him by the Army circles 
at the time of his resignation. But the cheerful face and 
clear blue eyes of little Ludlow reassured him. 

“I was formerly stationed at Alcala myself,” he said qui- 
etly, meeting the raised eyes of his host. 

Billy showed no surprise. 

“Oh, I know all about that,” he said cheerfully. “You 
see you are a sort of Current Event for the Alcala plaza- 
gossips. They’ve chewed the rag about you a good deal 
since I reported there a few weeks ago.” 

Lleart smiled. 

“I presume Najera remembers me?” 

“You mean that lantern- jawed son of conspiracy who 
runs the Alcala church ? Oh, he hasn’t forgot you — not by a 
good deal ! But most of the people down there worship ; 
you, Captain. They worship you too much for comfort. 
Why, it doesn’t matter how well I behave myself, that saucy 
little daughter of old Don Rodrigo tells me that the last 
batch of officers in Alcala beat me into a pudding both for 
manners and sense !” 


1 86 


THE PROMOTION 


The frankly rueful voice of Billy was so droll that Heart 
forgot the burdens of his mind and heart, and laughed aloud. 

“Look out, Lieutenant ! That little Mercedes had my 
post-doctor all disorganized with one volley of her bright 
eyes. The power of old Spain is not yet all spent. Beware 
of a Castillian ambush.” 

“Good advice,” assented Billy solemnly. “But it’s no use 
to give it now. I was disorganized myself a week after I 
hit Alcala, and inside of ten days I was put to rout, chased, 
captured and annexed. There is subtle policy in my offer- 
ing you this chicken to-night, for it’s no telling how sud- 
denly I might need you a little later on.” 

“No wonder you plastered that fearsome title of ‘Rever- 
end’ on to me eft the very start,” said Lleart, still laughing. 
“What with that gentle, delicale compliment and this ap- 
petizing chicken, I’m entirely at your service. And to tell 
the honest truth, I wouldn’t mind it a bit if brave little 
Mercedes, with her snapping eyes and the good sturdy blood 
of the old Don in her veins, should find a true soldier lad to 
lead her to the altar.” 

At seven o’clock Heart and his companion arose to de- 
part, but Ludlow bade them wait an instant, and, disap- 
pearing into a rude shelter which his men had prepared for 
him for the night, he soon reappeared with a mail bag in 
his hand. 

“Just a minute before you go, sir. My men found this on 
the San Stefano trail this morning. There were signs of a 
struggle and most of these letters were scattered in the mud. 
I reckon the carrier was taken off by the ladrones. Now I 
was looking over some of the addresses, and if I remember 
aright there is something here for you.” 

Taking the leathern bag by its bottom, Ludlow uncere- 
moniously dumped the contents out in the light of his fire, 
and then, squatting beside them, passed them over hastily, 
while Heart looked on with interest. 


THE PROMOTION 


187 

“Yes, here she is,” said Billy presently, holding up a 
mud-splotched square envelope with one hand, but still stir- 
ring the remaining missives with the other. “I was sure 
there was one. Maybe there is another. This was Marotac 
mail mostly.” 

His eyes were still on the pile before him, and he did not 
notice the flush of red which swept the face of the young- 
missionary as he perused the finely penned address. Not 
only had his pale face taken fire, but an unreasonable weak- 
ness suddenly seized him, and he involuntarily thrust the 
note into his pocket and leaned heavily on the shoulder of 
sturdy little Pedro, who was looking at him with kindly in- 
tentness. 

“You are well, senor?” he asked in Visayan. 

Heart straightened with an effort, nodded reassuringly, 
and then, noticing that the Lieutenant was replacing the let- 
ters in the pouch, he made his adieux, and was soon in his 
saddle. The Lieutenant insisted upon accompanying them 
beyond his sentries, and the two Americans shook hands 
warmly as they parted. As they did so Pedro uttered a few 
eager sentences in the dialect to Heart, who reined in his 
starting pony and said quietly: 

“By the way, Lieutenant Ludlow, Pedro here reminds me 
of a duty I owe you. The plague is breaking out in the 
‘barrios’ near you. As you return to Alcala, it might be as 
well for you to avoid Binalogan. The plague, you under- 
stand, is far more dangerous than the small-pox, and the 
greatest precautions are in order for the bravest of men.” 

“Much obliged to you,” said Ludlow warmly. “I’m 
pretty green on these native diseases yet. I’ll do as you 
say, sir. But aren’t you both headed for Binalogan your- 
selves to-night ?” 

“It is because of the plague that we are going there. I 
am something of a ‘medico,’ and the presidente of the ‘bar- 
rio’ sent Pedro over to Marotac for me this noon. Good- 


1 88 


THE PROMOTION 


bye, Lieutenant. I won’t forget your hospitality. It seemed 
good to have a little taste of the old Army again. God bless 
you !” 

As the ponies started away, Ludlow answered mechan- 
ically and remained in the road, gloomily staring after them 
long after the darkness of the palms had blotted them out, 
and even his ear could no longer catch the sound of their 
thudding hoofs. 

“Say,” he said to himself quite abruptly, “I didn’t know 
that fighting the plague was part of the missionary busi- 
ness. I always supposed it was mostly tongue work !” 

Then, before he turned back to his fire and blanket, he 
did a strange thing. He faced down the trail toward Bina- 
logan, straightened his little figure to a rigid “Attention,” 
and raised his hand in an elaborate salute. 

****** 

“Just a moment, Pedro !” 

Heart had reined in his pony at th$ outskirts of Binalo- 
gan, with the soft blackness of the tropical night all around 
him, and had laid a detaining hand on his companion’s arm. 

Both ponies stood motionless while the missionary fum- 
bled in his blouse for the letter and a box of matches. 

“Here, Pedro, I wish to read this. There is no wind. 
Keep a match burning till I finish.” 

Pedro in obedience struck a succession of short-lived 
lights while the American spread out the precious message, 
and read it with a throbbing pulse, the paper trembling be- 
fore him as his nervous hand endeavored in vain to hold it 
steadily. 

“ Dear Captain Heart : 

“Davidson doesn’t expect me until the 2 jth, hut I am 
planning to surprise him on the i&th. If it were only pos- 
sible for you to meet me in Iloilo and drive me out to the 
Jaro meeting ( it will be on Tuesday ), the surprise will be 
quite dramatic. I know that you are away up at Marotac s 


THE PROMOTION 


189 

but Davidson has written me that you are terribly over- 
worked, and need a respite. But not for your own sake, 
but for ours, I am asking you not to disappoint me. 

“Your sister in Christ, grace duval.” 

Heart held the letter a moment after reading it, and then 
folded it reverently and placed it in an inner pocket, where 
it rustled against a second letter, frayed and limp, but en- 
grossed in the same feminine hand, a letter which had hith- 
erto held its little sanctuary alone ever since a memorable 
morning at Alcala when it had come, a blue leaf of healing 
to a tormented mind. 

The letter put away, the missionary still sat quietly in his 
saddle, answering the problem as to whether it should be 
Iloilo or Binalogan. He sat so quietly that his companion 
stirred uneasily, and wondered whether the all-wise “min- 
isterio” had forgotten the plague-alarmed homes of the 
“barrio” ahead. 

As if to answer his unspoken question, Heart suddenly 
started his pony forward, and, side by side, they entered the 
muddy single street of Binalogan, and the reek and horror 
of the Plague. 


XXII 


THE TENT AMONG THE PALMS 


P in the private office of Surgeon-major 
Carter, of the Brigade Hospital at Iloilo, 
that keen-eyed officer and a newly ar- 
rived brother physician were intently 
studying a small glass slide. First one and 
then the other screwed down the micro- 
scope on it and looked long and carefully. 
This ended, they looked at each other sig- 
nificantly. The Major was scowling as if 
C in anger. 

“Anything else we could have met,” he 



said impatiently. 

“You have no doubt remaining?” gravely asked the 
younger man, his anxious, short-sighted eyes blinking 
through his glasses. 

“Not an iota. You noted how the stain took in the ends 
of the bacilli. It is useless for us to attempt to disguise the 
fact that the finding of the short-rod bacillus is our last sen- 
tence in the diagnosis. Heart is down with nothing less 
than the bubonic, Dr. Hilton. In fact, we have known for 
some time that our so-called typhus cases were something 
far worse. It was when I became convinced that we were 
dealing with the Black Death that I sent that call to 
Manila.” 

“But it doesn’t seem possible that the bubonic should 
190 


THE PROMOTION I9I 

have broken out in those comparatively clean ‘barrios/ ” 
objected the younger man. 

“Those filthy Chinese traders at Binalogan are undoubt- 
edly responsible for the starting of it. They came down 
from Manila a few weeks ago on the Rizal, and Townsend 
of the Manila Board reports thirty new cases daily just now 
from the Chinese quarter. But there was plenty of filth in 
the ‘barrios’ to keep it going, once it started. Now about 
Heart — don’t feel too badly. If he is to live, worrying on 
your part is ruled out, and if he is not to live you will have 
the satisfaction of knowing that he makes his exit with the 
applause of every decent man in Panay ringing in his ears. 
Why, do you know, sir, that that man with his little stock 
of medicines and disinfectants, shipped up to him by Duval, 
fought the plague in Binalogan single-handed until he had 
the ‘barrio’ well in hand? Toward the last they say he 
staggered around like a drunken man with those awful 
racking first symptoms. And when my men got there he 
was raving in an infected shack where he had gone to su- 
perintend the removal of a ‘Chino.’ ” 

Hilton sank into a chair, his face reflecting the anguish 
of his heart. 

“Where is he now?” he asked heavily. “Out at Quaran- 
tine Camp?” 

“Yes; they have fixed up a special tent for him a little 
to one side of the main camp. He’s getting pretty fair at- 
tention, but .1 am personally glad to have you on duty out 
there. I understood you to ask for that assignment, did I 
not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, rest up to-day. You must be jaded with your 
trip. You can go out to Camp in the morning. You came 
down on the El Cano , did you mot? How was the passenger 
list?” 

“If you will allow me, Major, I should greatly prefer to 


192 


THE PROMOTION 


go to work at once this afternoon. The Third Battalion of 
the Fifty-fifth was in Guam, you know, when the order came 
for them to take charge again here. When we reached Ma- 




nila I heard of your call for 
aid, and came on ahead. But 
the whole battalion will be in 
port here to-morrow or next 
day. The list of the El Cano 
was pretty slim, sir, on account 
of the plague. But, strange to say, 
Miss Duval, of the Baptist Mission, 
was on board. She doesn’t seem to 
have any element of fear in her make- 
up.” 

A look of quick interest brightened 
the Major’s stern face. 

“Plucky girl !” he said. “And I’m 
afraid she is going to have her heart 
broken, too. Of course I didn’t believe 
those accursed insinuations of 
the Manila papers, but I can- 
not help feeling that there is 
something between her and 

Heart. And if so, God pity 

her when the news reaches her to-day !” 

Hilton arose. The Major shook his hand warmly. 

“Take good care of yourself, Hilton,” he said gruffly. “Do 
what you can for Heart. Your tent is already pitched just 
inside the lines. Have your stuff sent right out to it. Re- 
member, I’m behind you for all I’m worth, but may the 
curse of all the Fates rest upon the red-tape of a service 

which makes the Medical Department its very last con- 

sideration !” 

Leaving the Hospital, Hilton hurried back to the docks, 



THE PROMOTION I93 

directed his luggage into a “quilez,” and was soon rattling 
along Calle Real cn route to the Quarantine Camp. 

Perhaps a third of the way out to Jaro a twist in the 
white, dusty trail enables it to avoid the edge of a graceful 
growth of palms which here fills in the country lying be- 
tween the road and the beach of Iloilo Strait. Here, in the 
gathering lateral shadows of the late afternoon, Hilton 
found the white tents of the Isolation Camp scattered be- 
neath the trees. A sentry sharply halted his rig, and vigi- 
lantly watched the unloading of the doctor’s slim outfit, 
but the sight of the cross on the physician’s collar reassured 
him, and Plilton, returning his salute, paid off his “cochero” 
and walked eagerly into the aisles of his strange out-door 
hospital. The surf of the Jolo Sea was sounding in his ears 
from the westward, and he gave thanks for that health-giv- 
ing sound. Guided by a red-cross flag flying from one of 
the larger tents, he soon found himself within the headquar- 
ters, which turned out to be simply a pavilion raised above 
a board floor. A group of Filipino and Chinese “immunes” 
were lounging at its entrance, and two of these he sent back 
for his luggage. Within, the only occupants were a worn- 
looking steward who was presiding at a make-shift dispen- 
sary, and an infantry-man on guard over a huge pile of 
medical and quartermaster supplies. 

A few minutes’ conversation with the weary steward 
gave him the essentials of his new duties. He found that 
there were about ninety cases in the Camp at present. They 
were mainly Visayans, and there was but one American, 
the missionary from Binalogan. New cases were brought 
in daily from the north, and the daily death-rate averaged 
a good fifteen per cent. It had been impossible hitherto to 
detail a regular physician, for the staff were all busy fight- 
ing the plague in the “barrios” or using preventive meas- 
ures in the larger towns. With one assistant, the steward 
had been given the tntire responsibility of the camp, and 


THE PROMOTION 


194 

professed himself heartily glad that his superior had ar- 
rived to assume a hopeless task. As to the American, he 
would find him isolated in a special tent at the northern edge 
of the grove, and not more than a hundred and fifty feet 
from the Jaro road. 

Requesting the steward to retain his responsibilities for 
another half-hour, Hilton hurried away through the apa- 
thetic immunes, and with some difficulty succeeded in find- 
ing the tent in which his old commander had been placed. 
Decently by itself it was, and raised from the damp ground 
by a rude bamboo flooring, but, in spite of these and other 
evidences of special care, the sight of the dilapidated can- 
vas tilted in the shadow of a mighty palm was mournful in- 
deed to the eyes of the approaching officer. Instinctively 
he thought of the fine old Michigan home where he had 
first met Herbert Heart, with its broad porches, and its 
shaded lawn ablaze with scarlet maples. Had his friend 
been brought by the mysteries of Providence from such a 
starting-post to so pitiable a goal as this infected^ shaky 
shelter? 

Made fearless by his love and pity, he raised the flap, and, 
stepping within, looked down upon the face of his friend. 
The sick man was not alone; a convalescent Visayan from 
Marotac was faithfully fanning the flies from the cot of his 
beloved “padre,” and looked up almost resentfully at the in- 
truder. But Hilton hardly saw the attendant — his eyes 
were glued to the awful apparition upon the bed. He could 
not doubt that he in reality beheld the man whom he 
loved above all others, but there was not a line in the coun- 
tenance before him which suggested it. The patient was 
apparently in the usual dead stupor which marks the second 
period of the disease, and the closed eyes left the distorted 
face without a single guide to recognition. The natural 
clearness of the skin had given place to a mottled purple, 
both upon the face and the one exposed arm, and the regu- 


THE PROMOTION 


195 

lar features were lost in an offensive and grotesque puffi- 
ness. So awful was the change that for an instant Hilton 
was tempted to deny the identity. But stooping over, he 
found the unerring evidence of the bolo scar across the 
cheek, and straightened himself back against the tent-pole 
with a poorly suppressed groan of agony. Could this loath- j 
some thing be the same man whom he had last beheld clean 
and sound, the man who had companioned with him in a 
hundred stirring adventures? Could this puffed, vacuous, 
mottled face be identical with the clear-eyed, finely chiseled 
countenance of the dashing Herbert Heart of Santiago and 
Porto Rico, of Zapote Bridge and Ignotan? So surely as 
there was a just God above, he cried within himself, he 
must awake to find the wretchedness and horror before him 
dissipated, and his comrade restored to him in cleanliness 
and strength, hand clasping hand beneath the oaks of the 
old college campus or the maples of the old home. But the 
smell of the disinfectants, the fetid atmosphere of the 
place, and the unconscious horror before him mocked his 
hope, and he brought himself together with an effort. Giv- 
ing some directions to the attendant, he looked searchingly 
at his patient, and then returned to headquarters. The pur- 
plish spots on the neck and cheeks of the missionary had 
told him, all too plainly, that the case was hopeless, and 
the final collapse not far distant, and his first act was to tele- 
phone this to Major Carter, requesting him to send word 
to Dr. Duval, who, the steward said, had appeared at the 
sentry line inquiring for his colleague just previous to the 
arrival of Hilton. 

This done, he gloomily turned to the details of his admin- 
istration, receiving reports from and giving instructions to 
the stewards, nurses, guards and bearers. He then took 
pains to send an additional Visayan to Heart’s tent, so that 
word might be instantly brought him should the patient be- 
come conscious, and thus, having assured himself of a con- 


THE PROMOTION 


196 

versation with Heart at the earliest possible moment, re- 
paired to his own private tent pitched directly beside the 
headquarters’ pavilion. As he did so he turned to the ser- 
geant of the guard, who was approaching with the reserve. 

“You are to be hereafter unswervingly rigid, sergeant, in 
the observance of the exclusion order. No one must cross 
the line, unless a patient or an immune.” 

It was now seven o’clock, and his supper was brought to 
him by a Chinese servant. By the time he had disposed of 
it and had arranged his few effects, it was time for the final 
inspection of the camp. Fearless as only the true devotee of 
faith or the absorbed apostle of modern science can become, 
the physician made the rounds of the mournful encamp- 
ment, suggesting a change here and there, and endeavoring 
to create good cheer and optimism by kindly words of en- 
couragement to the patients. But, brave as he was, he shud- 
dered as a group of bearers carried out a spotted corpse 
from a tent under his direction. The dark skin of the vic- 
tim mottled with the plague showed up hideously in the 
light of the hospital lantern in his assistant’s hand. Fie 
stood as though rooted to the path, looking scowlingly after 
the disappearing shadows of the little cortege, and thinking 
of the impotence of curative science in the presence of “The 
Black Death.” 

Fie was so shaken with a sudden feeling of helplessness 
that he feared his assistant would notice his uncertainty, 
and he saw with relief a native appear at his elbow with a 
message for him. 

“The ‘Americano’ is now conscious, senor,” said the man 
in Spanish. 

Instantly leaving his steward to continue the inspection 
alone, Hilton made hurriedly through the rows of tents to 
the darkness of the palms at the northern edge, and, guided 
by a light in the isolated tent, he soon threw open its flap 
and met the open, alert eyes of his former Captain. The 


THE PROMOTION 


19 7 

patient’s face was even more awful in the flickering light 
of a windblown candle, but the dark eyes proclaimed the 
reality of the soul’s return, and for an instant the patient 
and the physician stared at each other as though mutually 
affrighted, neither daring to speak. 

At length a peculiar change flashed over the face of the 
man upon the couch, and he made a feeble attempt to rise 
upon his elbow, his mouth moving but no sound issuing 
forth. Then came a single husky word, infinitely weak and 
uncertain, but nevertheless a word of glad welcome and 
gratitude. 

“Jim \” 

Hilton had fallen upon his knees beside the cot, the tears 
running down his tanned face. He reached out for Heart’s 
hand, but the missionary drew himself feebly away. 

“Water ! Jim, water ! and if you love me don’t touch me !” 

The Visayan attendant pressed a glass of water to the 
dry lips, and put his arm under the aching head to raise it. 
Gulping painfully, the patient swallowed, nodded in thank- 
fulness, and sank back, his face twisting with pain, upon the 
ruae pillow. 

“That’s better, much better. Thank you, Anselmo,” he 
said presently, his voice still weak, but cleared of its huski- 
ness. “And now, Jim, explain yourself. Sit back away 
from the cot, or else I won’t talk with you, and remember 
that blubbering spoils your looks, old man. Tell me what 
you are doing here. The sight of you has startled me up 
into the seventh heaven.” 

Hilton moved back a jealous half-step and seated himself 
upon a camp-stool, the unashamed tears still showing on his 
face. He mechanically wiped his glasses before he trusted 
himself to speak. 

“The old battalion was ordered back to Manila from 
Guam. The other two battalions went on to the States. 
Major Carter sent up to the Surgeon-General for volun- 


I98 THE PROMOTION 

teers, and I came on down here. I’m in charge here now, 
Herbert.” 

For an instant Hilton had debated whether or not he 
should inform Heart that the old battalion was on the way 
to Iloilo. He decided in the negative. If they should not 
come in time it might grieve the dying man, and if they did 
arrive in time, the surprise might act as a reprieving tonic 
to him. 

“It’s glorious to see you again,” said the sufferer with a 
deep sigh of relief and content. “I don’t want you to feel 
badly about me, Jim. I’ve lived to the limit the few months 
since I saw you last. I am not going to meet my God with- 
out having had a little taste of his service here in this old 
world, and knowing something of its blessedness.” 

Here a violent retching interrupted him. Turning away 
from the doctor, who arose and bent anxiously over him, 
Heart motioned to the Visayan, who appeared with a towel 
and gently wiped a bloody ooze from the missionary’s lips. 
In a moment the sufferer was quiet again. 

“I’ll leave you if you exert yourself to speak again, Her- 
bert,” said the doctor, trying to make his voice firm. “Here, 
take this tablet. Raise his head, ‘hombre/ ” 

Willingly enough Heart swallowed the tablet, although 
with some difficulty, and patiently sipped at the glass of wa- 
ter which followed. Then, relaxing, he said quietly: 

“Please don’t go, Jim. I must say a few words to you. 
Humor me, old boy. My heart is full, and I must speak.” 

“Go ahead then, Herbert, but please don’t strain yourself. 
Take it easy. I — I won’t leave you, whatever you do.” 

“Good for you ! You always did let me have my way, even 
in the dear old college days.” Heart tried to smile. “Well, 
what I want to say most of all is a little word of witness to 
my — my Master, Jesus Christ. I’m afraid that after I am 
gone — now don’t interrupt me, please — that after I’m gone 
some of my old friends may be tempted to think that I’ve 


THE PROMOTION 


199 

had a hard time since I left the battalion. I want you to 
tell them for me, Jim, that the little time I’ve spent in the 
service of the Kingdom of God has been a wonderfully 
happy time to me. I don’t think I ever really lived before. 
You won’t forget that, will you, old chum?” 

“Sure, I won’t forget,” said Hilton gruffly. “But don’t 
think you are a real doctor just because you fooled the peo- 
ple of Binalogan into thinking you were a genuine ‘medico.’ 
Why, you have a mighty good chance for life yet.” 

There was a moment of silence. The Visayan, squatting 
quietly at the other side of the bed, wistfully regarded the 
sick man’s face. At length Heart cleared his throat feebly, 
and said : 

“Your very first lie, Jim. But love created it. God bless 
you, old faithful, God bless you !” 

A moment later the two watchers saw the eyelids flutter 
shut, quenching the brave glow of the dark eyes, which to 
the last looked lovingly at the doctor. The muscles of the 
face relaxed slightly, and once more the patient was un- 
conscious of all about him, his hideous face, unrelieved by 
the flash of intelligence showing increasingly grotesque as 
the candle-light and the shadows played alternately upon it. 


XXIII 


SONGS FROM THE PICKET LINE 

NIGHT and a day of unconsciousness. And 
while Heart was slowly approaching the 
gates of the eternal world various things 
of earthly importance to him occurred 
one after the other. First had come, in 
the early morning after Hilton’s con- 
versation with the failing missionary, a 
furious ringing of the telephone bell in 
the Quarantine pavilion. It was Dr. 
Duval, pleading with Hilton to be taken 
on to the medical staff of the camp that 
he might be permitted to minister to his 
dying colleague, and the younger officer 
found many denials necessary. The in- 
exorable Carter had repeatedly refused 
Duval the day before. There was no 
excuse for risking a spread of the contagion, he said, and 
there were other reasons for the refusal which he did not 
feel at liberty to give. 

Then, at nine o’clock, the cable offices had flashed the pa- 
tient’s serious condition to Manila and home via Hong 
Kong, London, and New York. 

And at noon the stately white hull of the Warren swept 
into the Strait of Iloilo, and busy lighters, clinging to its 
sides, took off huge loads of jaunty boys in “khaki,” who 
chatted familiarly with the “cargadores” and sniffed about 
the sugar wharves as though they enjoyed the old odors. 

200 



THE PROMOTION 


201 


Hardly had the first consignment of them touched the dock 
at half-past three, when certain of their officers were work- 
ing the wire like mad, demanding news of their erstwhile 
comrade, Herbert Heart, of whose heroism and desperate 
illness the Manila papers had reluctantly told. One after 
another, Chaplain Winfield Scott Tully, now healthy-skinned 
and vigorous, lithe “Monty” Smith, now wearing a cap- 
tain’s bars, and nervous little Adjutant Marchant stood at 
the receiver and talked vigorously and to the point. When ^ 
they had hung up and faced each other there was quite a 
group in the Q.M.D. office. 

“What’s the latest about old Heart?” asked a voice back 
toward the door. It came from long Tom Kittredge, who 
had served side by side with Heart in the humid heat of 
Cuba. 

In response to the question, Marchant opened his mouth 
and cursed the universe in general and the Medical De- 
partment of the Visayas in particular, while the tears trick- 
led down his sea-tanned cheeks. 

“A lot of dirty incompetents !” he said brokenly. “They 
didn’t know enough to handle their little epidemic them- 
selves, and had to let a line officer do it for ’em. They 
thought it was typhus-fever ! Boys, Heart is dying of bu- 
bonic at the Quarantine Camp. He caught it while help- 
ing at Binalogan.” 

“Who said so?” asked an awed voice. 

The Chaplain answered. 

“We’ve just been talking with Hilton. He’s in charge at 
the camp since yesterday. I’m going out at once. They'll 
let me pass that sentry-line or I’ll know the reason why.” 

“Wait till I get the Major to release me and I’ll go along 
with you,” pleaded Monty. “I’m supposed to be in charge 
of this accursed dock.” 

The Chaplain was already elbowing his way out toward 
a waiting group of native rigs. 

O 


202 


THE PROMOTION 


“Stay where you are, Captain,” he said sharply. “It will 
do you no good to go to the Camp. They’ll not let you pass. 
I’ll ’phone down here to you as soon as I see him.” 

He sprang into a “quilez” as the last words left his mouth, 
and twenty minutes later had successfully bulldozed the 
doubtful outpost on the Jaro road into letting him pass into 
Hilton’s quarters. 

“But my orders allow of no exceptions,” the hastily sum- 
moned sergeant of the guard had said. 

“I’m not an exception, I’m the Rule,” said the Chaplain, 
with an insolence born of love for his dying friend. “And, 
by the way, Sergeant Murphy, I should think you would be 
ashamed to challenge a minister of the gospel at a place 
like this. The sign on my shoulder should have been enough 
for you.” 

Still doubtful, the sergeant had nevertheless allowed him 
to pass in to an anxious conversation with Hilton. Shortly 
after both men stood over the missionary, whose lips now 
moved in soft-spoken, incoherent sentences, while his eyes, 
although open, stared unseeing at the roof of his tent. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Fifty-fifth came up pretty 
strong this evening,” said Tully softly. “What shall we do? 
We can’t allow the boys in here, and yet if Monty is held 
at the line he’ll go clean crazy. And Heart can’t last through 
the night.” 

“I’ll instruct the sergeant to call me if they come. I think 
that if we make it a point of honor with them they’ll not 
force the outpost. You stay here until six, and then report 
at my tent for supper. We ought to — to both — be here with 
him — to-night .” 

Hilton had tried to speak evenly, but his voice shook. 

“I don’t care for any supper to-night, Doctor,” answered 
the Chaplain. “I’ll stay right here if you will let me.” 

So Hilton went gloomily back to his duties, and the griz- 


THE PROMOTION 203 

zled Tully watched through the afternoon hours over his 
delirious friend. 

At seven o’clock an evening zephyr swept out of the J©lo 
Sea, and sighed through the mournful grove, and, gradually 
growing to a steady breeze, cleared the darkening skies 
overhead of their few remaining cob-webs of filmy cloud, 
allowing the Southern Cross and all its lesser satellites to 
throw their soft light through the fronded, swaying tops 
above the encampment. The whole place seemed suddenly 
enchanted into a veritable cradle of God, the squalid details 
of the poorly pitched tents turning into an alluring pattern 
of silver and ebony. The smell of disinfectants drifted away 
eastward, and the health of the salt sea seemed eddying in 
gentle helpfulness through every loathsome abode, causing 
many a stolid Visayan to stir with hope of a better mor- 
row. The sultriness of the day had sadly depressed the 
victims, and now it seemed as though the calm angels of 
God were watching over them through the starry eyes 
gleaming in the velvety sky, and as though the very hand 
of Omnipotent Mercy was cooling their aching bodies 
with a pressure of soothing love. 

Whether in response to the call of the reviving encamp- 
ment, or in consequence of the gentle flapping of the curtain 
of his tent, Heart again came back to his surroundings, and 
looked up into the faces of his attendant and the Chaplain. 
A single candle had been lit, and his first words, quiet and 
clear, were: 

“Please put out the light, Anselmo, I want to see the 
stars. Is that you, Jim? Would you mind throwing back 
the tent door?” 

The light went out, its wick pinched between Anselmo’s t 
brown fingers, and Tully, arising, threw open the flap and 
fastened it back, letting in the ethereal softness of the star- 
light upon the missionary’s cot. Then, coming back to the 
bedside and resuming his stool, he said quietly, 


204 


THE PROMOTION 


“It isn’t Hilton, it’s Tully. You remember worthless old 
Chaplain Tully, Heart.” 

Had the dim light permitted, Tully would have seen a 
look of gladness make iridescent the eyes of the patient. 

“Dear Chaplain !” he said happily. “This is my second 
miracle. God is good to me !” 

He lay quietly for a moment, evidently formulating some 
query to put to Tully, and then, turning his head slightly, 
was about to speak, when Hilton came in, and, seeing him 
conscious, gave him a greeting of forced cheerfulness. 

“How is it to-night, old man? Feeling a little easier?’* 

“Much easier,” responded Heart. 

“Don’t you want a light?” 

“No, thanks, Jim; I want the stars to-night. God’s can- 
dles, you know, set for our faith and our passing.” 

Hilton did not trust himself to answer, and in the moment 
of stillness which followed the breeze outside stirred the 
great thatch of palm leaves above the tent into a mystic 
beckoning of myriad hands. Then, almost imperceptibly 
the breeze changed its rustling into a higher key, and little 
by little made itself articulate in actual words. At first the 
listeners thought themselves deluded, but a moment later an 
unmistakable quartette of male voices came down the night 
air to them, growing clearer and clearer until, as the chorus 
was reached, the quartette blended into a swelling chant of 
many voices. 

Oh say, does the star-spangled banner still wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 

“What — what is it, Chaplain?” asked Heart, his voice 
weak, but tense with a great eagerness. He half-raised him- 
self as he spoke. 

“Don’t get excited, Heart. It’s just the old company. 
They came down to-day from Manila.” 

The officer had spoken very tenderly. 


THE PROMOTION 20$ 

“Company I ? But what are they doing in the Quaran- 
tine Camp?” Heart demanded, unbelieving. 

“They aren’t in the Camp, Herbert. They are out in the 
road. They came up from the barracks to sing to you.” 

As Tully spoke the quartette began again, the tenor sing- 
ing as he was never to sing again, thrilling his sentences 
into the grove from the road, where he stood with a hun- 
dred awed men around him. As he reached the line — 

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation- 
Heart’s mind cleared as cleanly as the night sky above. 

“That’s Delaney’s voice !” he cried. “It is the old com- 
pany quartette. Raise me up, Anselmo. Keep away, you 
two. Don’t touch me. Anselmo can do it. There ! Isn’t 
it glorious? Help the chorus out, comrades. I — I can’t, 
you know.” 

Propped in his bed by the Visayan, with his eyes on the 
starry sky, the indomitable spirit within the decaying body 
jerked the hand to a salute, and held it rigidly to his fore- 
head until the chorus was ended, the dry lips moving in uni- 
son with the broken words of the Chaplain and the Doctor 
as they tried to join the refrain : 

And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

As the last measure died away into the wind Heart’s 
hand fell. 

“Give them my love. It was great of them to think of do- 
ing it,” he said huskily. “It just fitted the night somehow.” 

Again silence came. The watchers under the canvas felt 
that the momentary excitement of their patient had, if any- 
thing, brought him nearer to the inevitable end. Instinc- 
tively they drew closer to the man they both ardently loved. 

Shortly, however, Heart stirred again uneasily. His lips 
moved once or twice, but his increasing weakness was too 
great for speech. Anselmo moistened his lips in vain. A 
look of fear, of struggle, showed in the missionary’s eyes. 
The Chaplain thought he understood. 


l 2o6 


THE PROMOTION 


“What is it, Herbert ?” he asked, bending close to his ear. 
“Your mother?” 

Heart slowly shook his head. 

“He left messages for his mother with Dr. Duval,” ex- 
plained Hilton in a whisper to Tully. 

The battle in the eyes of the dying man suddenly gave 
place to so victorious a glow that even in the dim radiance 
of the stars the watchers noticed the change. Once more 
the spirit had triumphed for the instant. But the voice, 
when it came, was very faint. The two friends listened 
breathlessly for the words. 

“Grace,” whispered the voice. “She is out in the road, 
and I fear she is weeping. Hold her at the line, Dr. Jim. 
Don’t let her in here, will you, dear old man? And, listen, 
Tully. When I’m gone tell her that it was just the same 
with me up to the very last. Tell her that it always — ” 

Voices were again coming down the night breeze, but 
this time a soprano was leading — a voice the dying man had 
last heard on the old Carlist path on Corregidor. There 
were tears in the voice, but it rose like a nightingale’s, and, 
true to its inspired intent, sang its every word distinctly to 
the tent beneath the palms. For a few quivering notes it 
soared alone, and then was suddenly supported by the en- 
tire company at the picket-line. A delegation of native 
Protestants had come silently up the Jaro road, and were 
massed with the grieving soldiers. They joined in the well- 
known tune in words of their own dialect, and like a paean 
of triumph it came through the star-lit arches : 

The Son of God goes forth to war, 

A kingly crown to gain, 

His blood-red banner streams afar — 

Who follows in his train ? 

Who best can drink his cup of woe, 

And triumph over pain, 

Who patient bears, his cross below — 

He follows in his train! 


THE PROMOTION 


207 


A glorious band, the chosen few 
On whom the Spirit came ; 

Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew. 

And mocked the cross and flame : 

They climbed the steep ascent to heaven, 
Through peril, toil and pain : 

Oh God, to us may grace be given 
To follow in their train. 

“Amen,” said Heart softly, and then was so quiet, so 
rigid, that they thought he had passed. But he spoke once 
more. 

“Dear Grace ! Don't — let — her — grieve. Don’t — let any- 
body grieve. Let’s all be very happy about it. It’s — a — 
glorious — promotion. His servants shall see his face, and 
they shad serve him day and night before — before the — 
throne — of — God — forever.” 

Down from the picket-line came a strain which Hilton 
could not find it in his heart to smother with evil tidings. 
This time the soprano was lacking, but all the rest were 
singing, Filipino and American, Monty Smith, Dr. Duval, 
Adjutant Marchant, old Domingo, little Billy Ludlow, and 
a good three hundred more, and as the song throbbed plain- 
tively out into the night a little woman in white, close at her 
brother’s side, raised her eyes to the constellation of the 
Cross, and echoed in her heart what she could not utter for 
her tears — 

OR IF, ON JOYFUL WING, 

CLEAVING THE SKY, 

SUN, MOON AND STARS FORGOT, 

UPWARD I FLY, 

STILL ALL MY SONG SHALL BE, 

NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE, 

NEARER — TO — THEE. 





SEP 18 190# 




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